


Cinderella Man

by Bladestar123



Category: Highschool DxD (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 98,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bladestar123/pseuds/Bladestar123
Summary: In which Issei Hyoudou discovers that his world is larger than it seems.
Kudos: 10





	1. Issei Hyoudou is a degenerate

Issei Hyoudou was living the high life. Sure, his legs were aching and his arms were falling off, but in the pursuit of being a gentleman and keeping the favor of the absurdly hot girl who'd actually offered to give him the time of day, _all_ day, it was negligible. He snuck a look at the gorgeous brunette walking through the park beside him. The slim smile on her lips had his heart pounding out of his chest, and he fought back the blush crawling up his spine. God, he was so lucky. She'd chosen _him_ , of all people! Suck it Kiba!

His hand wandered down to his pocket, feeling the hard plastic object he'd snuck in there. He'd bought it on a whim while Yuuma wasn't looking, because he thought it might look good on her? It wasn't pricy or anything, but...

"Hey, Yuuma-chan?"

She turned to him, a questioning look in her deep eyes, one that morphed to shock and something deeper when he reached up and brushed her hair back.

He redded slightly, and sharply withdrew his hand, fingertips tingling as she continued to look at him blankly. One of her hands reached up, and felt the little plastic butterfly clip that he had placed there, holding her hair away from her face. Her eyes suddenly had a strange look to them, oddly unfathomable for a second, though he swore he saw something flicker.

And then she was back to being Yuuma-chan, and Issei felt himself slowly breathe out, a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. She looked at him, and the look in her eyes was a little resolute. A kind of gentle firmness that had Issei swooning a little. She pouted a little as she spoke, and Issei couldn't even help himself from following her lips.

"Hey Issei, could you do me a favor?"

Issei Hyoudou's innocent heart beat a cherry-red rhythm against his chest. His animes had told him of this day. This day!

He was ready.

"Would you..."

Finally.

"..."

Any moment now.

"...kiss me?"

Holy shit.

"S-uyeah." Issei nearly bit his tongue in eagerness. He was actually somewhat troubled by how excited he found himself; looking good for this girl was _hard._

He leaned in hesitantly. Virgins like him dreamed of this moment! How often had his fantasies strayed here?! How many times had he talked himself down from thinking about it? How many times had he drifted away in the middle of the girl's changing room, only to be caught?

Too **many** goddamn times. But now Yuuma was...right here. In front of him, eyes shut and lips pursed.

So why was he hesitating?

She smiled a little, her lips curling back into his line of sight, and she closed the gap for him. God help him, he still squeezed his eyes shut when it happened.

It tasted like victory. And a little salt, and maybe a little citrus too. In that order.

They both slowly opened their eyes at the same time, and Yuuma blushed in front of his eyes, so close he could make out the flush creeping up her neck and blooming on her cheeks. She gently turned away, hand going up to her lips and rubbing, while her eyes narrowed in something like...awe, maybe? Gotta be.

He wanted to lean in again and-

"Sorry, Issei." Her smile was a little twisted as she turned back to him. Maybe her lips felt numb too? But that smile looked decidedly odd on that cheery face, the one he'd seen shift so many times in joy and wistfulness. Alien, almost.

"It was fun."

She raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

* * *

Issei Hyoudou blinked. He'd been on a d-da-d'aventure? A french adventure? For...french...porn. French porn, maybe. A familiar word, yeah, he was out on an adventure for porn. Again. Some kind of...tits...? Some kind of fucked up shit, but then Matsuda was kind of a fucked up guy. It was probably him, anyway, he'd been ranting about the hidden ending of _Bazongers Bonanza 4_ and how it blew the rest out of the water. Shit, yeah, he'd been excited for that, hadn't he? Excited enough to wait...hm...where was he?

Issei suddenly shivered, a violent wave of cold suddenly catching him as a breeze gusted by. Looking around, it was dark, the lights were up...and he didn't have his jacket? He was in the park though. It was familiar, he'd been through the place so often, cursing the happy couples and praying for a girlfriend by the fountain.

"Thanks for lending me your jacket, kid."

A...girlfriend...by the fountain...

Issei's head snapped to the side with a violent _crunch_ , the lovely voice suckering his attention like Motohama pulling a vhs out of a bag. Silky and dark, just the way he liked it, _damn_. The speaker was a girl about his age, heart shaped face pale in the night, with a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. Her dark tresses were parted and framed her face neatly, presenting the image of a pretty laid-back girl out for some fun. An image matched by her trendy outfit, but harshly contrasting the wry smile on her face, twisting her whole expression into something more sarcastic. It worked for her though. Hell, not much _wouldn't_.

The only thing that stuck out was the off-brand clip dangling off the side of her head. Ugh it was _ugly_ , chunky plastic with colors faded on the edges.

Shit, she might have a boyfriend then, no way she'd care for something like that otherwise. Probably a sucker for his smooth talk. Fucking tryhards, ruining it for the rest of them.

Issei visibly deflated, limply holding out his hand. "T-thanks. For the jacket. Uh..."

"Yuuma Amano." She giggled lightly, and _damn_ if that didn't perk him up. She thought he was funny. She'd laughed at him, and smiled at him.

That meant he had a shot with her right?! Right?! His animes told him so.

She smirked, and he had the eeriest feeling she could see right through him.

No... _bad_ Issei. _Bad_. He did _not_ have a shot with a girl like this, don't _even_. Any minute now, she'd kick his ass for...something. Something he probably did.

He swallowed, and felt his fingers reflexively close over his jacket as she swept it off her shoulders in one casual motion, and deposited it in his hand. "I appreciated it." She repeated. "Thanks for keeping me company until my appointment."

"That's what we were doing...?" He asked hazily, lost in her eyes. Her lips twisted, and she looked like she was forcing the smile a bit. "That's right." She giggled again. "You were a _perfect_ gentleman."

"Oh." Issei said numbly. _But I don't fucking remember a moment! Shit, what did I do?! What the fuck did I say?!_ "I-I'm glad."

"You are." She said. Oddly, she seemed a little piqued by this. There was a burgeoning sense of something _off_ , and Issei was suddenly _very_ aware of how dark it was and that there was no one for quite a bit of distance.

"Well then." Issei said, slowly. "Can I-"

She suddenly shot her left hand up - _it had a really pretty white glove damn that looks good running up her wrist when she_ \- she snapped her fingers.

* * *

Issei blinked muzzily. He felt kinda tired for some reason. His eyelids were kinda heavy, and he felt a massive yawn coming on. Stretching his bare arms, he promptly shivered violently.

His arms immediately came back, and wrapped around him, and he started looking around urgently. It was dark! What the hell was he doing here? He'd gone out for some porn, how the hell did he end up in the park at _night_ without his - his _jacket_ was in his hands why the hell was he holding it and not wearing it -

"Oi." A sultry voice snapped.

He shut his jaw so hard he felt one of his back teeth ache painfully. His eyes zeroed in on the babe crossing her arms and standing in front of him with an ugly look on her face.

He swallowed. Oh shit, had she seen him peeking at her panties? Fuck, think of an excuse, not her...

Her...hm. No memories came to mind. He hadn't actually peeked. That was new.

"I didn't do it." He said confidently, secure in actually being innocent for once. Justice was on his side!

"Shut the fuck up." She snapped. Issei flinched back a little. Okay, it wasn't like he couldn't think of _several_ things he'd done to deserve that, but...

Well, shit. Got him there. He nodded dumbly, hopefully avoiding provoking her further.

"God, you're such a _tool_." She groaned. "Like, _fuck_. A fair? A movie? A cheap _clip_?" She snapped off some ugly-looking clip holding her hair back, and he barely noticed as she hurled it to the side impatiently. Even with the ugly look on her face, the way her now-loose fair drifted in front of her face was lovely. "The _fuck_. Is this the 80's or something? You gonna take me to a batting cage too?" She started stamping her little feet, over and over, like she was working off some energy.

"I could do that." Issei's mouth said on autopilot, the rest of him preoccupied ogling the very nice girl.

Then the rest of him caught up to what he said. Holy _shit_ , when the hell did he grow balls like that? Wasn't that flirting? He was flirting wasn't he? Oh _man_ , he was living his best life _now!_

"No!"

Or not. Issei got sad all over again.

"God, _virgins!_ " She looked close to pulling at her hair. "You're all the _same_ , 'I've got a plan!', 'I'll be as nice as possible so she doesn't hate me!', 'Maybe if I do everything she wants, she'll reciprocate!'."

 _Sounds logical_ Issei reasoned.

"You're all idiots! Trash!"

 _Sounds unreasonable_ Issei reasoned, but revised his _eventually-totally-gonna-get-a-date-and-get-laid_ plans anyway.

"Look." Issei said slowly. "Um...did I...do something?"

She froze, and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were red, and Issei felt his ass physically creep backwards and pull him along.

"NO!" She hissed. "You did NOTHING! Nothing of value! At all! You're a boring piece of shit! Your sacred gear is trash too! What the fuck _are_ you even good for?!"

For all his distancing himself from the situation, both emotionally and physically, Issei _did_ feel hurt by this.

Not because she was saying mean things - he heard worse _all the time haha_ \- but because he didn't have any idea what the fuck she was saying, and she didn't seem to care enough to explain. It was kinda scary, to be honest, but he was turned on anyway.

Also, she sounded chuuni as shit with that sacred gear stuff, which Issei also found kinda really cute.

"Can-can I help you with anything? Like, to make you less angry." God help him, he was charmed even when she was homicidally angry.

She paused for a second, eyes narrowing even further in thought. "Yeah, actually. Work on your kissing, 'cause that was _bad_. Like, fucking _terrible_. Actually no, wait, I take that back, don't bother."

Wait what.

She shoved a finger at him. "You're a fucking loser, Issei Hyoudou, and if you stay forever alone, so much the better!" Having said that, she threw both her hands in their air and screamed her lungs out, going until she petered off to a raspy giggle.

Oh man that was adorable.

"Hey now, you're making yourself out to be the bad person here." Issei said wisely. "You basically still have the moral high ground, but you're burning it fast, you know? Like, I did something apparently, and hell, I believe it, but you're going about it in the wrong way. People might even feel bad for me, you know?"

Her eyes went flat, but an odd smile stayed put on her face. "Right."

"Right." Issei clapped his hands. "Now, uh, what the fuck is going on so I can run-"

She snapped her fingers.

* * *

Issei's jaw hurt like shit.

"Damn, my jaw hurts." He mused. "That must've been some _solid_ porn."  
He slowly looked up and around. He was in the park at nighttime.

"Nix that." He said, slightly awestruck. " _Godlike_ porn! I don't even _remember_ going outside!" Fuck, Motohama would pay _so much for_ -

"Yeah." A kinda bored sounding voice said, a little in front of him. It was a little raspy too, but the voice was still _super hot_ so his head whipped down of its own volition.

As advertised, she was indeed super hot.

"Hi." Issei said numbly.

"Hi." She said, exasperated. Well. That was uncalled for, though maybe not so much considering that he might've put himself into a fugue state for a couple _hours_. No regrets.

"Can." He cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"

She sighed. "You kinda already did." She admitted. "Just needed to vent."

"Oh." He thought about it. "Was I weird?"

Her lips quirked. "Not so much. You really were a _perfect gentleman_."

"Cool."

She smirked a little, and slowly unwound the scarf from around her neck. Issei watched her. unsure what was going on, until she held it out to him.

"As thanks." She said, at Issei's blank look. He slowly took it, feeling it's softness. Cashmere? Damn, this was _pricy_ stuff. He quickly moved to refuse, nothing he could have done was worth _this much money_ , but she'd already stood up and was brushing off her lap.

"Think nothing of it." She said shortly. "It's not even really thanks, that was yours anyway."

"O-oh."

"I guess I'll have to think of a different way to thank you." She snickered softly to herself, and turned to walk off.

Issei panicked. He hadn't even said that much! She was so pretty, he was gonna just let her walk away after building some positive cred? Quick Issei, leverage her kindness! Burn those friend points!

"Hey, can I see your-"

" _Fuck_ no."

She snapped her fingers behind her back.

* * *

Issei came to, bundled up on the fountain ledge with his jacket and a scarf.

Wait, the scarf wasn't even his, where...

A memory flashed through his mind, of helping a girl with her groceries, and her offering her scarf out of thanks.

Yeah...yeah, he'd helped out that pretty girl. Good on him! Hey, if he ever met her again, maybe he could ask her out.

He hopped to his feet, and started skipping his way home, barely noticing some plastic clip thing shatter under his foot. He felt pretty damn good actually, slight ache in his jaw aside, and a little tingling on his lips that tasted like some kinda wax or balm or something.

Good porn, good deed, some good food waiting at home. Hey, not a bad day!


	2. Issei Hyoudou is petty

Issei liked manga. He liked isekai manga, especially the ones where the guy entered the new world and kicked ass and got a harem of hot women!

Those were the stories Issei liked. Simple. Direct. Appealing. There was no need for some artsy plot or fancy gimmick, just pure, vicarious thrill.

But even among those, the ones that he really liked, were the ones where the guy was a villain or a background character, and beat up the 'hero' in their path. It satisfied something deep within him. People liked to say that the world was fair a lot, that anyone could step up and steal the limelight if they had the wit and guts, but protagonists broke that rule. There was no stealing the limelight, because it had been built for them. Where they went, so did attention. A protagonist was someone who, no matter what you were doing, would unfailingly be more important. More respected, and paid attention to.

Yes, this was the position Yuuto Kiba held in Issei's heart, and he loved reading edgy isekai because if he couldn't actually beat up Kiba in person, he'd get the next best thing.

"That's pretty sad man." Matsuda slowly wiped away a tear. "You get more pathetic every time I talk to you, it's a thing to behold." Ah, harsh as ever Matsuda-kun; Issei continued to feel actual agony every time this sharp-tongued simpleton spoke.

"In conclusion." Issei said loudly. "Fuck that guy. He's the worst and I'm never gonna get some while he's hanging around." Thus concluded, he sketched a deep bow to a round of sarcastic applause.

Motohama went back to filing his nails. "I don't care what you say, I'm not driving you to Mt. Fuji." He said absently. "Find somewhere else to dispose him." Neither of the other two were impressed, aware that the bespeckled idiot was barely paying attention to them so he could ogle girls in the reflection of his file.

"Lazy asshole." Matsuda muttered. How harsh Matsuda.

Motohama shot him a sardonic look. "Which one of us keeps 'forgetting' to return that copy of _One In The Bush: The Def-_ "

"SURE IS LUCKY HOW SHORT HIFUMI'S SKIRT IS." Matsuda yelled, and with muffled screams of irritation girls fled from the window around their classroom. Motohama, furious, slammed his filer into the desk.

"Son of a bitch!" He roared. "I was watching-"

"What's this about returning a vhs, eh Motohama- _kun_?" Matsuda bit out, and Motohama physically recoiled. "Surely you aren't demanding something like that. Not after breaking my copy of _The Dragon Enters_ , now are you?"

"I did _not_ break it." Motohama hissed. "I returned your stinking vhs to you without a single scratch! The librarian praised me! 'Ooooh, Motohama-chan, you're so good with your hands!' That's what she said!"

"You recorded it _halfway over with the ResE: Conception OVA_."

"An objectively superior experience!" Motohama roared. "Who would dare turn down legs that fine?! I haven't even finished watching it, and gave it back anyway! That's the kind of hero I am!"

"Ah, I destroyed it." Issei said with a pure smile. "The picture quality was shit, and so was the actress. She could barely keep a straight face while-"

Motohama went for Issei's throat. " _Prick!_ " He hissed. "That was a _limited-time run_! I'm not shelling out 60,000 Yen for the Blu-Ray!"

"Don't worry!" Issei gurgled hazily, as Motohama shook him back and forth in abject fury. "I saved you the trauma of discovering that the male lead looked like Kiba." Motohama and Matsuda stopped moving, faces twisting into identical images of horror.

"That man has _got_ to go." Matsuda gagged. Motohama dropped Issei in disgust who began gasping for breath quietly, as his eyes slowly morphed from revulsion to thoughtfulness. "Cinderblocks are a classic." Motohama mused. "Ocean's right there. _Sploosh_ and the problem's gone. Just like that."

"Just like that." Issei echoed dreamily, eyes spinning a little. "If only. Maybe I'll find the guts to flirt with a girl if we kill him first. They say you only become a man on your first kill."

"Easy enough to prove." Motohama bumped Matsuda with his shoulder. "Look over there." They all turned slightly, and Issei began quietly grinding his teeth as Yuuto Kiba, handsome extraordinaire, walked past their classroom, drawing attention with every step.

"We start with his arms." Matsuda said sharply. "Can't hold hands or hug a girl with no feelers. Bet he can't feel her up either, or watch porn, or eat food. Might as well be dead at that point."

"Then the face." Issei mumbled, still getting angrier as people began applauding while Kiba walked past. "'Cause fuck that guy."

""Fuck that guy."" Came the rebellious echo. At that point, Kiba whipped around, sun gleaming off his polished smile like he had something to hide, and cheerily waved at them. The repulsion was instant, the three of them physically throwing themselves off their chairs to avoid his eyes, and shivering.

"He might've heard us." Matsuda whispered. "Might've echoed."

"Good." Issei spat angrily. "Teach that asshole to be handsome and popular."

"That's right." Motohama agreed. "It's _his_ fault for being handsome and perfect. How- how _dare_ he be better than us!."

Issei punched the floor. "We'll kill him for it yet! Just you watch."

"Alright idiots, shut up and sit down, class starts in 5 minutes." A tired voice said loudly, slamming the door open. Issei popped up to his feet. "But Hana-sensei!" He yelled. "Kiba's _such_ an asshole. He's better than us and acts like it! That makes him a bad person!."

The thirty-something woman sighed deeply, lines etched on her rather unremarkable features. "He _is_ an asshole, yes, but no disrupting class." She shook a fist at them threateningly. "My salary is late this week, so I'm in line for a bonus."

Matsuda popped up beside Issei, folding his arms over his desk. "Can we kill him _after_ that?" He demanded. Hana-sensei sighed. "Yeah, alright. Just make sure his body doesn't turn up near the school."

"We're doing mankind a service." Motohama popped up as well. "Hey, you think the Librarian might take pity on me if I pretend I'm sad?" He slid into his seat, turning a little to face a sober Matsuda.

"No." Matsuda said honestly. Motohama looked disappointed.

Around them, people had continued filtering in, sitting down amidst a hail of quiet murmurs. No one paid the three any mind, besides a few of the girls walking in and giving them nasty looks. This had only continued getting worse as the three _refused_ to speak any softer than a stage whisper, so odds were increasing that Issei himself would probably die before he could wring Kiba's neck.

That was, until one of the girls did worse, strutting over to them with an ugly smile and an uglier look in her eyes.

"Rumor has it that you three are planning homicide." Aika Kiryuu purred, flipping her red braids over her shoulder. Issei felt his mouth warp itself in revulsion, and beside him Motohama and Matsuda looked like they'd sucked particularly pungent lemons, features twisted in a rictus of distaste.

"Piss off." Issei whined. He really didn't want to deal with this today.

Her grin widened, and she began tapping a finger thoughtfully against her chin. "Now let's see...if I was a sad vigin, totally at odds with polite society," her eyes danced over Matsuda, " _incapable_ of polite conversation with the other gender without making _some_ sort of passing comment about her body," her amused eyes tiptoed over Motohama slowly sinking into his seat like particularly dull-witted mud, "and with a libido so massive it followed me like a _bad smell,"_ and now she was looking at Issei in a way that was just _completely_ uncalled for, "What would I have to be angry about?"

The sound of fury popping like oil got louder as she tapped her finger mockingly on their desks, and if she wasn't blown away by their unfiltered anger, it was because she was almost literally propped up by irritated classmates shooting Issei ugly looks.

"You're not the Sensei here, Kiryuu." Matsuda ground out. "You can't just come here and lecture us like this, right guys?!"

He whirled over, and his (un)righteous anger immediately shifted tracks. "Guys?!"

Issei coughed. "I mean, she's right man." He was actually a little proud. He _shouldn_ ' _t_ be, but he was. "Like, I'm not sure why you're getting angry. You literally said as much when you asked Sato out." This was what they called confidence! God, he probably looked _so cool_ right now, being the calm voice of reason.

"Yes!" Matsuda said loudly. "I did!" Man Matsuda-kun, you look super uncool right now. "But it doesn't give her the right to throw it in my face!"

Kiryuu said, smirking. "Shame you're wasting all that confidence on that...untenable position."

Issei's brain stalled. Wait. _That_ was cool? Oh shit, had he been doing it wrong all this time? W-was he supposed to loudly declare his deviant beliefs?! No! Everyone already knew about them! Surely downplaying them a bit was gap-moe right?! He was an expert, he was confident about these things!

"Look at Motohama!" Matsuda shouted, righteous in his disbelief.

Motohama refused to make eye contact with anyone. " _I_ can talk to people." He mumbled, shaking a little from bottled emotions. "I can. Other people just get there first. Like Kiba."

Matsuda jabbed a finger accusingly at Aika. " _You did this_!"

She rolled her eyes. "I didn't do _shit._ " She folded her arms, snorting gently. "This bullshit you three are up to, it wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Yuuto was seen walking that little first-year girl, Kone-something, home, now would it?" She asked slowly.

A pause.

"SHE SAID IT!" Motohama screamed.

Issei forced down the homicidal rage. That didn't happen. It _didn't_. He refused to believe it. Not in this world or the next, would such an admission cross his lips!

" _Fuck_ you, Kiryuu." Matsuda forced out.

"You fucking wish I would." She sneered, before her eyes drifted further south, sneer deepening. "Or you _could._ Unfortunately, that seems about as beyond you as actually talking to the girls you stare at."

Matsuda snarled and lunged for her, and she danced away squealing, laughing as he ended up flopping over his own desk in his haste.

"Sensei, these dirty perverts haven't bathed in weeks! I can smell them from across the room! Suspend them for public indecency!"

"Are you just messing with me?" Came the exhausted question, to which Aika nodded enthusiastically.

"Then I'll let you _join_ them in suspension, and you can all go disrupt someone _else's_ class."

Aika immediately stopped laughing as she realized that Hana-sensei had decided she couldn't be arsed to play ball this morning.

"In fact!" Hana-sensei continued loudly. "I should ban _all_ you assholes, for delivering the most _degenerate_ perspective I've _ever_ been forced to put up with at 7:30 in the goddamn morning, every _single_ goddamn day!" She hurled her chalk out a window, and people instinctively ducked. She turned back and her eyes were red.

Issei slowly sat down and got small. That's how you dealt with gorillas right?

"In fact, why don't we just _burn_ the damn textbooks!" She grit out. "Clearly, _I'm_ the one learning things here! I've discovered all _kinds_ of ways to put up with headaches!" Her hand went out like God's laser pointer, homing in on Matsuda. "Like this one! Or this! Or this _fucking migraine!_ " One by one her hand swept by, and they all sunk lower.

"I oughta-"

The door slid open, Sato-san pausing at the entranceway, all giggling and chatter outside cutting out like the wire was pulled.

In the dead silence, Hana-sensei turned to the newcomers slowly. " _Get in._ "

"You got lucky." Aika whispered, pouting and crawling over to join her deathly quiet friends near the front of class. The three sighed in slight relief, drawing more fearful attention from their neighbors once again filing in. The room had continued slowly filling up, and it was nearing capacity already, most people already desperately crawling away from their friends to head back to their seats. Issei, Motohama and Matsuda began quietly grumble as they reached down to their bags.

"This blows." Issei grumbled, watching Aika slump over to her desk in front of them. "Hana-sensei usually waits to 4th period to blow her top."

"Maybe low blood sugar?" Motohama suggested.

"I heard she got shot down." Matsuda whispered confidentially. Issei leaned back. "That's a really fucked up thing to know about your teacher."

"Yeah, but we know when Matsuda gets shot down _all the time."_ Motohama observed.

Matsuda clenched his teeth, grinding them. "That shithead Kiba, stealing all the girls. Is nothing sacred in this fucking school. Is the bro-code not applicable?"

"The bro-code is always applicable." Motohama quietly insisted. "Enforceable, not so much."

" _Damnit._ " Matsuda hissed. "We don't have a high enough male population to ostracize that asshole."

"We'd be having other problems then though." Issei pointed out. "Namely, the fact that we'd no longer have _any_ chance of getting a girlfriend with the male population so high."

Matsuda frowned a little. "Didn't you...have one...or something?" He winced and rubbed his close-cropped head.

"Yeah." Issei answered automatically.

"Wow, really?"

"No, I lied, I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Well.

"Turn to page fifty, we start polynomial integrations." Hana-sensei hissed impatiently.

Three heads slammed into wooden desks in sequential harmony.

"""Ugh."""


	3. Yuuma Amano is secretive

" _Why do we use vhs's anyway?_ " Issei whispered out of the corner of his mouth. He saw Matsuda perk up and turn towards them a little, but Motohama was the one he was addressing, and the man in question looked thoughtful.

" _It's more authentic._ " He whispered back. " _It's an older style, and the vintage feel makes it feel better. More important._ "

" _But it isn't_."

" _How dare you. Those are original copies. Some of them didn't even crack 1000 print."_

Issei reared back a little, quietly insulted. " _Motherfucker, do you_ ** _know_** _how much we spend on those things? A lot more than goddamn dvd's, lemme tell you."_

 _"_ _Oh yeah?"_ Motohama smirked. " _Carnation Productions, the distributer who released the vhs we watched yesterday, had a bad winter in '87. They had a staff shortage, so a lot of the rent and temp workers got hands on. This eventually extended to the rest of the hired staff, as they tried to beat the end-of-year quarter to get into a different tax bracket. The women were pressured to do so; the men had a higher right of refusal due to being loaners from a different studio. Thus-"_

Issei's eyes were bugging out of his head. " _Wait, are you serious?!"_

" _That's right._ " Motohama was faintly grinning. " _Can you say that the dvd you watched was personally packaged by the actor fresh off her set?_ "

Issei was blown away. Looking down, he looked at his right hand, the one that had held the vhs. To his newly enlightened eyes, it appeared to be glowing. This hand had become a part of something greater. Some higher power had woven this flesh into a destiny far beyond his meagre imagination.

" _Yeah, man, when I found out, I rubbed that tape_ ** _all over my body._** _You guys should totally look for vhs's like that too. They're a lot more personable than a cd. The history really adds a lot."_

Issei leaned over, and roughly snagged Katase-san's hand sanitizer, snapping the rubber clip with a savage wrench of his hand. He placed his right limb solemnly on his desk, palm up, shattered the plastic box in his left, and slammed the entire mass of plastic shards and acid into his hand.

The hiss and pop of his flesh slowly searing from alcohol burns was only a minor comfort to the pain in his soul. To his side, he saw Matsuda slowly pull a bottle of rubbing alcohol from his bag, and the two traded understanding looks.

They both stood up together, pointedly avoiding Motohama's curious look, and slowly turned and walked out of the class mid-lecture. Matsuda had already bandaged his hand, so Issei waved him on, and turned to Hana-sensei, who was giving them dubious looks.

"I gotta go."

"You gotta go." Hana-sensei repeated.

"Yeah."

"Explain, Hyoudou."

The newfound void in his soul yawned. Issei turned to her. "Look, I gotta go. I can't. This isn't. There isn't enough alcohol in this _world_." He ignored her quiet mutter of _amen,_ and stumbled right out. Matsuda was outside, slowly binding his hand with some handkerchief cloth, so Issei gave him a comforting pat with his left hand, and continued walking out of the school.

He had better things to do, and more of a life to live.

* * *

Hand newly bandaged and finally feeling like _his_ again, Issei whistled a little as he walked to the corner store. The cashier had called him the previous day to tip him off about a new shipment, and damn it, there weren't many better ways to raise lowered spirits than a porno mag. Leaving school early to wander the town and clear his head had ended up being a good idea!

_FEAR_

Issei chose not to think about the reason behind his lowered spirits. Some things simply deserved no further consideration. Instead, he chose to appreciate literally anything else, like how nice and grey the sky was, or how the trash tumbling in the wind sounded like a very soft snare drum. Positive thoughts.

At serious risk of depressing himself, Issei sped up when he finally spotted the corner store around the corner. The cheap lot had rarely seemed more welcoming, a flickering neon sign branding the generic 24/7 joint as one where any man, any _gentleman_ could approach for...needs. He slowed down only as he approached, and gingerly pushed the door open. The inside was dim, a perfect level of respect for the careful connoisseurs perusing the shelves up front. Issei joined them in silent communion, looking for titles that caught his interest while ignoring the disgusted look some of the other students skipping class shot him as they passed through to the bento aisle.

The new adds were always top-row, and skimming them revealed that there _were_ a few titles he liked, so he reached into his pocket, interested in how many he could afford. Two or three probably...

Reality reared its ugly head as he looked into the empty folds of his cheap wallet.

Empty! How?! When?!

He shook it again, waiting for the bills to stop sticking to the sides of the cloth. He shook it a little harder, then even harder, and then physically whipped his arm up and down. And then he looked again. Empty.

Issei turned around, speed walking out of the store before he could break down. Shit! Shit! Did he spend it all yesterday? Did he really buy so much porn that he put himself into a fugue?! Shit! Yesterdissei, what even happened?! Share the porn, damnit!

As he walked, he shoved his hands into his pockets and rummaged furiously, eventually withdrawing his hand with a single 100 yen coin winking at him.

Issei had _several_ questions; like, 'where did my money go?' and 'why is this money still here?' and 'can money evaporate?', but now he just kinda wanted a drink.

His hands were shaking as he took in last bit of change in his pockets, before it inevitably tumbled from his loose fingers. Issei froze for a second, before he dove after it. He wanted a can of coffee damnit! He wanted comfort! The coin bounced around, rolling about, and the crowd let him know _exactly_ what they thought of his ankle-high scramble. Screams and yells echoed as he pushed past kneesocks and dress pants, mindlessly following the twinkling metal, until it came to a stop in a slim, pale hand.

He followed the pale hand, gently straightening up and accepting the coin. "Ah thanks...?" Issei blinked, and looked up. A girl was looking back at him; a girl with lovely, long black hair and a heart shaped face that made his chest hurt. A light of slight recognition flickered in her eyes, although that may have just also been the butt of the long cigarette dangling from her lips.

She seemed almost awkward, fidgeting a little on the stone bench with people around her and taking gentle puffs.

"Yo."

"Ah?" Issei blinked, looking through his memory for super hot girls he'd spoken to as he slowly slid the coin back into his pocket.

It was a short list.

"Ah! Miss Groceries!" He exclaimed, with a fuzzy memory of helping her with groceries, and her offering him her scarf in thanks for the long walk home. So that was what he'd spent his money on yesterday! He was rather pleased to see her again. God! He was so manly! He felt like a hero while helping her carry them! He'd also been hoping she'd invite him inside or kiss him goodbye, but then, Issei hoped for a lot of things.

The scarf was nice though.

Her painted lips quirked. "Ah yes...Ise-san wasn't it?"

She remembered him! Holy shit! He was so happy he was frozen! He couldn't think!

Apparently, he'd waited too long, and accidentally overheard her mutter to herself, ' _was it not Ise? Was it actually Isaya? Shit, it's only been a few days, uh...'_

"No!" Issei hastily yelped. "No, it's Ise-san, you got it!"

She turned back to him with an all too honest, awkwardly relieved smile, grateful that he hadn't left her on the spot.

Again! He was frozen! He couldn't even hold a conversation with this girl, everything she did charmed him! He wasn't even talking about her personality, she was just really cute!

Issei grinned somewhat dopily back. "How are you? You waiting for something?"

"Someone." She corrected, and Issei felt himself plunge into hell. The world had it's brightness setting shoot down at _least_ 30 points. Just dark enough not to see her face anymore. If he pretended she wasn't as gorgeous as she was, maybe he didn't have to feel sad he didn't stand a chance? "A girl." She continued, putting her hand out to the side. "About yea big. A foreigner. I'm going to be helping her around. Have you seen her, Ise?"

Jack those settings back up, he still had a shot! Yeaaaaahhhhh!

"Nope!" He said, somewhat cheerful again. "A girl? Is she a child?"

"Something like that." The girl muttered. "She's the child of a priest, and a good friend of mine. Unfortunately, she's also somewhat dim, so I need to help her get settled in."

"That's very responsible, er..." Issei flushed an ugly red; he'd forgotten or not learned her name. His compliment was so lame now! She was smirking, so she'd clearly noticed. Oops.

"Yuuma." She said smoothly. "I wouldn't say I'm being particularly responsible or anything. I half-assed my last project, so I thought I'd at least nail this one."

"Yuuma-chan." Her name tasted like social superiority on his tongue. It was a nice name. Really eased the fact that he had no idea what to say, now that he was being forced to actually hold the conversation. "Er...do you know where she'll be coming from?"

"The airport."

Well, this was the taxi ringroad, so Yuuma was clearly in the right place to meet her guest. Shit! He couldn't even raise the 'show her around town' flag! This girl was social teflon!

 _Or maybe you're just a 2mm round_ his mind whispered. That joke actually hurt himself more than he'd originally expected, so he ignored it.

And maybe even that was a mistake, as the silence stretched. It was an awkward, hanging silence, where neither of them were really sure what to say. He didn't even really know this girl, and to his surprise, his endless font of chatter had run dry. No witty stories or clever insights came to mind, and even the barebones news he'd heard felt like a trite interpretation.

The girl herself seemed unbothered, eyes lazily roving the crowd, her comfortable posture at odds with her erratic, quick pulls from the cig.

Seconds stretches to minutes, and Issei's mouth continued to grow drier.

Briefly, he considered taking the plunge. She was talking to him and smiling, so he maybe had a shot? But no, that wouldn't help. Even if he succeeded, he'd cry, scream, beat his chest, crow about it from the light pole, and then climb back down here and still have no topic of conversation.

Instead, he cast his eyes and mind about, seeking an idle topic, and accidentally spotted one. A little blond girl in a massive poofy black dress growled as her baggage rolled crazily about, someone having bumped her accidentally. She burbled something loudly in... _foreign_...and began swivelling about impatiently, shooting everyone around her judging looks.

"Ah, I found her." Issei said regretfully. Short, blond, a little goofy. Nailed it.

Yuuma, startled, dropped her cigarette and spun around, following Issei's line of sight. The two girls met eyes before Yuuma hopped to her feet and briskly marched over. The crowd parted like waves as two irritated forces of nature collided, and they immediately hunched over and began whispering.

Issei watched a little dumbfounded as the whispers progressed to irritated jabs, to loud squeals, to the little girl literally jumping up and down in irritation. The crowd, where it hadn't simply concealed into a sticky mass of people behind them, was too dense for Issei to make out much more than that. In the end, he simply sat, impatient and curious, wondering if he'd somehow fucked up.

The two eventually bustled back, the little gothic girl pushing right past him, while Yuuma stopped.

She wasn't really looking at him, and he had the sinking feeling that he'd become a bit of an afterthought. "I'm sorry," she said, a little frazzled, a little hurried, "But I really need to go. Something urgent came up, and, I-I need to go handle that. Thank you for keeping me company." Her smile was perfunctory and polite, but her eyes were already looking elsewhere.

"Is everything alright?" Issei asked, actually somewhat alarmed. "Do you need my help?"

Her replying look was perhaps a little distant. "Afraid not, my boss is coming by to help us handle some work."

She'd intended it to be cool, but her slightly reddened cheeks were far more honest and Issei got the picture immediately. And yet, this time he didn't feel his heart break. Was it because he'd already lost hope? Or was it the hint of something lurking behind her pretty eyes, that perhaps he'd thought twice about getting closer to. His instincts, such as they were, were loudly recommending that he not look too deeply into it. But even having lost his shot, he couldn't help but admit that a girl in love was a beautiful thing to behold.

"He sounds like a good guy." Issei said, taking a polite step back and containing what internal jealousy remained. Ah! It was hard, he really did hate successful men! But, he'd give it a shot anyway.

It was, perhaps, a sign of her distraction, of her mental preoccupation, but to Issei's surprise, she answered him honestly.

"Azazel is a _very_ good man."

And even absently, her voice was heated. _Azazel_ , Issei remembered. If he came across the guy, he'd have to tell him to be good to Yuuma. What a lucky bastard he was!

"Good on you, Yuuma-san."

Issei began walking backwards, watching the lovely girl withdraw him from her attention entirely, as with an idle flick of her wrist goodbye Yuuma walked right out of his life.

Funny, he'd only met the girl twice, but he still felt...

...sad.

Hm. How odd.


	4. Issei Hyoudou is impulsive

"Alright 'fess up - why're we still here Issei."

Issei shaded his eyes and slouched a little further into his cafe seat. It was a fairly warm weekday; Hana-sensei had told them last week that a new book had come out, so everyone was on self-study until she was done. It had been a few days since then, and Issei had naturally taken to wandering the crowded streets with Motohama and Matsuda in tow. The city was weirdly open, with no neon and no shopping families, mostly populated by other students and housewives walking confidently past.

Motohama and Matsuda, on the other hand, were oddly cautious and dressed strangely, carrying a bunch of _fuda_ around their necks and even some prayer beads. Despite this, they were looking at _him_ like he was the weird one, and yet he couldn't meet their eyes. "Look." He grumbled. "I told you - you didn't need to come with. I just want to give the guy a message and it's cool. Totally cool! Hey, maybe he'll be into fighting games and maybe I kick his ass a bit and we'll all be friends, see? Nothing wrong!"

"This is _fucked up_ man." Matsuda said emphatically. "This is unhealthy, I'm telling you."

"I haven't done anything!" Issei complained. "I just wanna meet the guy! What's the big deal?!" Despite having said that, he still shifted himself so he couldn't see their judging looks. It wasn't like he wanted anything from Azazel. It was just curiosity. Issei Hyoudou wasn't a petty enough man to hold Azazel's immense luck and success against him!

"Dude, you met this girl, like, _once._ " Matsuda said. "Now, far be it for me to tell you not to follow her everywhere she goes and ask her out-"

"Say, that's a good idea." Motohama said thoughtfully. "Show a girl how much you care. That's how the movies go right? People never believe you the first time, you gotta slowly wear them down until they accept. See, a useful, workable plan you can use in the future. Isn't that nice Issei? But not once they're taken. That's a no-no."

Matsuda raised his voice. "FAR BE IT for me to do that." He coughed a little. "But come on man, she's _taken_. She has some rich prick who buys her things already, and _you said she loved him._ You don't know her that well, so just _leave_ it man."

"It's not that big a deal." Issei said, getting slightly irritated himself. "I just wanna meet him and see what kinda guy he is. I gotta know, like-" _black hair pale skin wry humor and a casual ease that made his heart beat_ "-what makes guys like him so different from us." He finished. "How'd he get a girlfriend, while we can't."

"Bullshit." Matsuda said bluntly. "You're invested. Look at that dopey fuckin' face, you're just trying to hurt yourself."

Issei's temper flared. "The _fuck_ man, like, I just wanna-"

"-meet the guy, compare yourself, prop yourself up, then realize you lost and kick the shit out of yourself anyway." Matsuda finished, and Issei collapsed in despair.

"I'm not that bad..." he whined, writhing a little in humiliation. He didn't need this verbal abuse.

"Worse." Motohama said grimly. "You're in _unrequited love_." Matsuda began making quiet gagging noises behind him.

"Am _not!"_ Issei said shrilly.

"God, why are we still here?" Matsuda muttered. "I could be watching the girls undress right now. I skipped PE for this. It's goddamn swim season, and I'm missing out on the swimsuits. But no, this blind moron can't let shit go, and he's dragging us, his good bros, down with him. Who does that? That's fucked up!"

"I mean, we could leave. At any time, really. No one's keeping us here." Motohama pointed out. He leered at Matsuda, who purpled, and turned away.

"I ain't no fink!" He muttered petulantly.

"We just gotta find the guy." Issei said, curling up a little more in his seat. "He's gotta be here."

Silence for a little bit.

"Why?" Matsuda asked. "Dude coulda pissed off any time right? Hell, you said that the kid your girl met up with had a _message_ from him. He might be in, like, Kansai or something."

Issei thought back to three days ago. The crowd was hot, but the space around him and Yuuma was pleasantly chill. He remembered the urgent cast to her face, and the way her eyes drifted across the hordes of people, almost on reflex. But more importantly, he remembered the small girl who drew Yuuma to her, the one dragging a little bag behind her.

"She didn't come from a taxi." Issei mused.

"What?"

"Me and Yuuma were standing at the Taxi stand, and she was waiting for the incoming people from the airport. Looking right at the taxi crowd. But Yuuma didn't spot the girl - I did, when I was looking away."

"She came from inside the city." Was Motohama's speculation. Issei nodded, and Matsuda grunted sourly.

"Sendin' someone to deliver a message while he's _right there?_ Man, what a-"

"Badass." Motohama interjected, smirking.

"Badas- man, _fuck you_."

Badass...

_"_ _Ora, ora, who the fuck is this kid?!" Came the violent question. A voice like the motorcycle between his legs, scratchy and hoarse. A brow like a cliff and a shaved head to match. Two tattoos visible, and a knife at his hip. A wifebeater, slacks, geta and a chain. Hands like whorled wood. Nails, unpleasant nails, long and gnarled, and shaved down talonish over his fingers. A scraggly neckbeard and eyes yellowed with time and cruelty. Watching him, and finding him wanting. A man named Azazel, cruel, capricious, willing to force children to pass on his messages. "Talking to my girl eh? Eh? Was the message I sent not clear enough? PISS OFF, BOYA, BEFORE I FUCK YOU UP!"_

"Maybe we should rethink this." Issei said calmly. Matsuda flung his arms into the air, groaning.

"Finally!"

"All of a sudden?" Motohama frowned. "What changed your mind?"

Issei scratched his chin sheepishly. "I thought about what kinda guy would be named Azazel-"

"And pictured asian Geese Howard, got it."

"I did _not._ "

"You super did, Issei- _kun_." Matsuda said, snickering.

"Fuck you!" Issei snapped. "This'll pan out, I _know_ it will!"

But it didn't pan out. Another day passed, and the three found themselves walking the streets once more in vain, Issei searching for anyone weird or interesting enough to accuse of being the mysterious Azazel, while the other two trudged behind. Issei had given up questioning if they were just there to shoot insults at him, because they obviously _were,_ the assholes. But things had taken an odd turn. The two had started walking around with more and more stuff. The fourth day found them with odd bits of metal jingling in their pockets. Issei had found a homeless man with blue streaks of hair. He seemed to be unresponsive to _any_ name, let alone Azazel, but the two had begun shaking their pockets at the man and chanting. An accusation of harassing the homeless sent the three running. Another day passed, and the two were wearing headbands doused in garlic oil and clutching flashlights. In broad daylight for some reason. The two laughed it off, but also refused to allow Issei to publically disassociate from them, so now he smelled like garlic too. The sixth day, however, was too much.

"Put it down."

"No." Motohama said stubbornly.

"Put it-" Issei deliberately lowered his voice in front of the foreigner he was talking to. " _Put the dreamcatcher down._ "

"I-sorry, then bad...time?" The blonde man offered. Issei replied by lieu of a smile wide enough to dismiss further conversation, and repeated shallow blows to Motohama's gut.

"Look Issei." Matsuda said sharpy, iron bell and incense in hand. "Sometimes you gotta check."

"...cosplay?" The blonde man tried again. Issei shot him a thumbs up, and he looked satisfied. Motohama wheezed a little. " _What if he was a tapir?_ "

" _What the fuck are you on about now, Motohama-chaaaaan?"_ Issei hissed. "Surely you aren't trying to scare off our potential identity winner, are you?"

The wind gusted a bit, and the iron bell jingled. Matsuda's eyes focused on it. "Bad juju." He intoned, and turned to the deeply confused foreigner. " _Youuu haffa verrrrry baddo dreamsu?_ "

The foreign man, astonished, nodded a little and clapped.

" _Shut the fuck up Matsuda!_ " Issei hissed.

Matsuda shook his head in apparent superiority. "Now now Issei, this is a cultural exchange. He offers me the wisdom of his weird foreign lands, and I purge the demons in his soul."

"He has American money idiot, what's he gonna do, teach you _more_ English swearwords?"

"Let's be honest here." Motohama gasped a little. "Swearwords are probably the _least_ offensive things that Gaijin bring with them."

"Gaijin?!" The man's eyes lit up, as he realized they were probably talking about him. Matsuda's answering grin was greasy.

Issei gave up talking him down from making a fool of himself and the foreign man. Instead, he turned to a recalcitrant Motohama, still hunched over beside him. "What's up with the shaman gear anyway."

Motohama pushed up his glasses. "You haven't come over in a while, right?"

Issei thought about it and nodded. Since that day he'd woken up in the park, he'd felt kinda ill at night, and didn't really feel up to dropping by their homes.

"My house is haunted."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah." Motohama confirmed. "I live close to the south side of the Academy, right? I dunno, what's going on, but since a couple days ago, weird shit's been going on. My parents moved us to a hotel until we can get a buddhist priest to drop by."

"And Matsuda's in on this?" Issei asked, impressed. Motohama snorted. "Nah, he thinks the old church up the hill is possessed by demons or something."

"So why..." Issei gestured at Motohama's cloth pantaloons and sacred vest. Motohama pushed up his glasses. "Well first of all, because Matsuda insists that demons walk among us."

Issei snorted. "Right."

"Second, because I _did_ find an exorcist. And I wanted to leave a good impression."

Issei's eyes widened. "Here? You wanted to leave a good impression, wearing _that_?"

"SPIRITS BE GONE!" Matsuda yelled, jingling the iron bell. The foreign man clapped enthusiastically as Matsuda finally stopped, panting, and tossed him a 500 yen coin. Some other people walking by seemed to think it was a street performance and a few more coins sailed by to nail Matsuda in the head, but Issei also saw some old lady dialling the cops with a peeved expression on her face. Seizing Matsuda by the upper arm, he hauled him up and dragged both idiots into the nearby alleyway.

They both had mulish expressions on their faces, so Issei gave up on asking them what the fuck they were up to. Instead, he turned to Motohama. "Priest right? Let's go. Where the hell is he."

"He should be around here, actually." Motohama said. "They say he's really weird, so we should be able to identify him on sight?"

Easier said than done, the trio discovered, as they made the alley their new haunting grounds. The slim, somewhat damp walls were defaced with colorful scribbles and half-traced graffiti. But for the most part, it was just mold and the occasional salaryman keeping them company through the cool paths. The area was mazelike, a convergence of several jigsawed buildings large enough to hold host to their entire class. They found themselves walking for hours, time slipping away in the echoing corridors. Typically the area was quiet, the occasional drip and splash all there was to interrupt their increasingly stupid tangents, but it still kept them somewhat wary of what might jump out.

But then they heard a curious echo. A roar, almost, just past the area. They moved a little faster, breaking out of the alleys into broad daylight once more, with a large crowd congregating in front of them. Issei found himself gasping, as though he'd finally released a deep breath after once more stepping under the sunlight.

They took in the sights, the bustling crowd looking shocked and pointing up at the roof of the building across from them. They slowly moved in, curiosity lifting their feet, until they found themselves at the back of the throng.

"Fire department's already here." Matsuda observed. "Camping out in front of the crowd." The tense men and women were indeed camped out, holding back the masses. "This is a _weird_ crowd."

"And a big one." Matsuda grunted. It was a swelling crowd indeed, more people continuing to stop and gather. Already, they discovered people to their backs, having been pushed inwards by the rising tide. Eventually, they continued drifting until they were close enough to make out the target of awe and shock.

"That a person up there Issei?"

Issei craned his neck up, squinting. "Yeah, that's a dude alright. The hell is he doing?"

Motohama's glasses gleamed as he stared upward with no fear of the sun. "He's grinding on the security rails."

And so he was. A tall blonde man was railgrinding like it was his God-given right, safety bar reduced to his playground. The white coat whipping about his shoulders made him seem dashing indeed, and the crowd roared its approval as he pop flipped his board.

"Shit that's cool." Matsuda muttered. "How the hell did he get a board up there?"

"Maybe he knows someone?" Issei suggested.

"Someone he knows gave him a blank check to commit suicide?"

"Could be a suicide pact?" Motohama said pedantically, still watching the man board with rapt attention. Issei shot him a disgusted look.

Matsuda snorted. "With what? The board?"

"Hey man, people name their boards." Issei defended. "Give 'em pronouns and emotions and shit. Maybe the board's depressed."

"How far gone would you have to be to question if your board is depressed?"

"You don't need to. It's all in the performance." Motohama said wisely. "If it ain't feeling the roads, maybe it's just not feeling life."

"That's a jump." Issei noted.

"It's a skateboard, what else is it going to do?" He put his fist up, and Issei bumped it.

"I maintain that a suicide pact with a nonliving object is illegal." Matsuda said firmly. "The board shouldn't need to handle that kind of responsibility."

"Then who's gonna sue. The person or the object?" Issei shot back. "Who has the rights in this case?"

"The manufacturer." Motohama said instantly. The other two snapped their fingers in recognition.

"Gottem." Issei said. "That's the one. Manufacturer takes the civil rights and grievance money."

"That's a K9 special order board too. Real wood. There's a cedar out there that's really sad. What a waste." Matsuda said morosely. The other two sighed.

"It's about to get sadder." Issei said, squinting harder at the shadow atop the building. "I think he fell off."

The crowd gasped, a sharp sound cutting through the sudden silence. For a moment, all anyone could hear was the whistling wind, until it exploded into chatter and screams.

"No, he's in control." Motohama said. "He's holding a pose. No flailing."

"Fire department is holding steady, and I've got the suicide hotline on speed dial." Matsuda said firmly. "Should we move in?"

Motohama stilled. "No...no hold on." He took off his glasses in a flash, giving them a quick rub before snapping them back on. "Holy shit is he...is he T-posing at us?"

Issei and Motohama watched the man fall in a firm T-pose, not a hair on his head wavering. People around them that had continued gathering exploded into noise, screams and laughter echoing, loud voices speaking into their hands as it began to sink in that this was really happening.

Matsuda slammed his right fist into his palm. "He's the priest."

"W _hat_." Issei snapped. "How the hell. No fucking way, no priest on this goddamn earth is gonna railgrind on top of a bank."

" _Fuck_ you." Matsuda stomped his feet as hard as he could, a little cloud of dust puffing up around them. "That man is doing a goddamn Christ Air off that building, that is a _priest_ damn you."

"Can I go to _his_ church." Motohama said, watching the man catch his board between his legs and start revolving. "Look, he's doing a 720."

A couple people began applauding as the Priest started spinning a few seconds before he was caught by the fire department's tarp in a massive _whump_.

Motohama threw his hands in the air. "He nailed it."

The audience burst into applause, cheers and whistles beginning to fly overhead as the Priest began to slowly extract himself from the tarp, exchanging high-fives and handshakes with the fire department. The crowd rushed in to touch this _hero_ , dragging the three boys along, until they eventually got face-to-face with the pale man, still flushed from his fall.

"You're a priest, right?" Issei demanded as the crowd finally stopped bustling enough for words to transmit again.

The albino nodded. "Sure am." The friendly looking leer that slowly tore it's way across his face nearly gave lie to his words, but the dangling cross on his chest cemented it. "Freed's the name."

"Rad." Matsuda said. "We need an exorcism."

An eerie looking grin hovered on the man's lips. "I can see that." He eyed Motohama and Matsuda's outfits. "Lemme quote you."

"We have to _pay?_ " Motohama cried.

Freed shrugged. "Sorry man, I gotta eat too. I don't feel like starving like that dumb-, well, nevermind." He shrugged, and tossed a wave at the crowd. "Sorry." He started walking off, basking in the noise and props. Motohama and Matsuda, dispirited, started moving back, but something held Issei in place. He signalled to them to head on, but cleared his throat.

"Hey, you're a priest right? You know people in town?"

The albino man turned back to him, crowd still reaching out to feel him. "I know a lotta people, yeah." He called back.

"You know a guy named Azazel?"

The priest froze, before walking back to him with great, land-eating strides. He brushed a few hands aside impatiently, before he stopped in front of Issei, looking right at him. Freed's eyes were slightly yellowed, and Issei shivered. He hadn't stopped smiling.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know Azazel. What's up, _boya?_ "

Issei swallowed. The crowd was loud and the sun was heavy in the sky, but he felt very, very cold all of a sudden.


	5. Freed Sellzen is (probably) a priest

"I wanna meet him." Issei said earnestly.

Freed blinked and slowly began nodding.

"Alright." He mused, odd shadows flickering on his face. Freed brought his left hand up, and began stroking his chin. "I see. So you want to meet him. Hm. Hm, hm, hm, hm, hm. Hm~." He snapped his fingers. "Alright boya." He gently seized Issei's upper arm, and gestured to his left. "Let's go."

"Into the alley?" Issei was puzzled, but when he failed to move, Freed rolled his eyes and _gently_ tugged him aside. In that moment, Issei discovered that both the grip on his arm was steel tight, and that this man had more strength in one arm than in Issei's whole body. He briefly struggled, until Freed tugged him again, nearly yanking him off his feet. Stumbling, he drifted off to the side, a leashed cloud gently guided by this shepherd's firm hand. Issei immediately found himself not only comfortably wedged between a dumpster and a powerbox, but seemed to do so of his own volition, as after Freed had shoved him deliberately in that direction he'd turned right back around to loving audience. Issei simply straightened to his feet, Freed's back straight ahead and the somewhat gloomy alley behind, and found himself wholly lost for action.

Issei felt a slight pang, the mildest of heart flickers, as the idea that he'd just agreed to follow a strange man with unknown motivation down what appeared to be a fairly labyrinthine set of alleys in search of someone he only had this mans _word_ for knowing, was actually in fact happening.

Huh. That was...well, in a sense, it was exactly what he'd been going for. But in another, Issei somewhat felt that something had been lost in translation.

But hey - Freed was a priest right? He was. He had a robe and a cross and a big smile and was thus ipso facto priestly material. Issei swallowed, and relaxed his jaw. Freed caught the sudden loss of tension in his shoulders, and giggled to himself a little, something that Issei felt strongly uncomfortable about, but once again rationalized as simply Freed being proper jolly priest material. Turning, the albino priest waved his free hand, calling out to the crowd fondly. "Thank you, thank you - I hold mass every Sunday, and we always welcome new flock! Please, if you feel uncertain, or nervous, or even paranoid, please come in to the local chapel! I and my fellows will handle anything from counseling to exorcisms!" He grinned and spread out his arms, briefly turning entirely away from Issei. "For a small surcharge, of course!"

The crowd went wild, cheering and whistling, and Freed took another bow. The lights and applause suited the man, making his rubbery complexion glow and his thin eyes seem magnanimous. He was a man, Issei could admit, that enjoyed his time in the crowd, and knew how to play it. Issei himself, however, was in something of a dilemma. Freed had no way of paying attention to him, and Issei didn't know what to do about it. He'd just convinced himself that he was fine following Freed, no matter how much he disliked the means, and had talked himself into putting up with the man's curious eccentricities. But now, given the chance to walk away, or even try to dictate terms, he was stuck. Hesitating. He couldn't go back on his own conviction, not now that he'd firmed it. But perhaps the cross on Freed's chest was a little less burnished and polished than a REAL priest might have done. Who could really tell? Not Issei. Right? Right?! _Could_ he tell? _Was that even a real robe_?

He...

He waited.

He stood and watched as Freed talked the horde into loving him, bantering with the firemen and giving people peace of mind with their mundane troubles. And Issei, swirling in a vortex of his own self-doubt and hesitation, could do nothing else. He saw Freed wave them away, saw him sending off the families and perhaps felt the first tinglings of fe _-nervous anticipation get it together Issei_ , when those yellowed eyes looked back at him.

 _Ah_ Issei perhaps thought, _this man surely has no intention of helping me_ , and so felt the need to step back. _But didn't you decide to go see Azazel_ , his mind whispered back, _you convinced yourself it would be alright, and it will, won't it_? And yes, yes he had done that, and surely it would? _The dudes a priest anyway totes for sure_ and sure, yeah, he probably was. And so Issei found the man slowly approaching him, with a grin that promised nothing at all.

A hand clapped Issei's shoulder fiercely from behind, and he barely stifled a scream.

"Funny to see you here, Hyoudou-san."

It was the voice he wanted to hear least in the world, at the worst possible time. But it did the trick, and Issei inhaled deeply, color snapping back into his vision. His body finally felt free to move once more, and he quickly took a step back. For convenience, of course, the shade was _wonderfully_ cool at this time of day. Mhm

"Ah," Freed smiled gently. But Issei saw a bone-deep satisfaction playing in Freed's eyes that made him shudder and consider perhaps taking another step into the nice, cool, refreshing shade. "And who might you be."

"Pardon me, where are my manners?" The hand was extended and taken, both men shaking with the utmost seriousness. "Hello, my name is Yuuto Kiba."

Freed nodded his head vigorously. "Ah, I see, Kiba-san, was it? Kiba, Kiba, what a wonderful name. Do you get out often Kiba? My, forgive my excitement, but I feel simply," his smile grew sickly. "As though we've got a great deal to speak about."

"I thought that before, but now I'm questioning if he actually did just walk out of that dumpster." Issei mused somewhat hazily. "How did you get behind me?"

"I've been here for a while, Hyoudou-san, standing and waiting. I was interested in meeting your _friend_ , and I simply couldn't help myself from approaching when I saw the two of you." Kiba had a brittle looking smile, oddly more pensive than Issei had ever seen him. Given that he'd never seen the man doing anything _but_ smiling silently, this was an accomplishment to be sure. "And now that I have, I feel as though we may get along quite famously, Mr. Sellzen."

_So that's his name. Freed Sellzen. What an ominous man this is._

"Ah!" Freed looked delighted. "You know me! I'm _flattered_." The twist in his lips was sarcastic and venomous. "I must be more prolific than I thought."

"We've heard a great deal about your work as a man of the people."

"I didn't think he was so famous." Issei mused. "First I'm hearing about it. Maybe you should ask him how to join the priesthood."

"I'm _always_ about helping the people people boya. Wouldn't you say Kiba? Always. I _live_ for it!"

Kiba shot Issei a happy smile that nevertheless conveyed his deep frustration. Issei, suddenly all-too comfortable again, decided instead to lean into it, and ignore Kiba altogether. It's not like he helped much anyway, Issei had it handled. As _if_ he was in any 'danger' - ha! Like that would happen. The man was a priest, for god's sake.

Issei felt dangerously loose, the whiplash of tension leaving him even a little light-headed. Kiba rolled his eyes at Issei's demeanor, sighing and looking away. "It is a shame, Freed-san, that I've left you on the back foot-"

"-not an issue." Freed cut off warmly. "I'm very glad to have met you."

"...I can only imagine." Kiba said tightly. Issei was wondering now, at this point-

"-do you two know each other?"

"No." Kiba said immediately.

Freed clicked his tongue happily. "Yes."

"Why're you lying Kiba?" Issei said, slightly drunk on his smugness. "Why're you a liar? Why d'you gotta lie like this?"

"Yeah Kiba- _chan,_ why lie?" Freed's eyes seemed to be staring at Kiba somewhat...hungrily.

"I'm not lying." But to Issei's taunting eyes, it felt like a point. "I am _not_ lying."

"Sure, Kiba."

"Hyoudou-san, would you mind stepping away? I need to have words with Mr. Sellzen here."

"I _bet_ you do."

"What wonderful friends you two are." Freed spread his arms benevolently, impervious to Issei's loud retching sounds. "I'd love to get to know the two of you better; poor Ise-kun here - you don't mind me calling you Ise, do you? - had some questions of his own, and so do you it seems. I'd _love_ to help you both."

Kiba's eyes slowly flicked between Freed and Issei. Issei sneered at him. "Thank you, but I'll need to decline your offer." Kiba said forcefully. Issei opened his mouth to make another smarmy comment, but the look Kiba shot him strangled the words. "Actually, me and Hyoudou-san here should really be going."

"I insist." Freed bit out.

"I decline."

"Can I not offer some tea-"

"I'm afraid I must _decline_ , as poor a guest that makes me." Kiba's hand was entering vice levels of tightness on his shoulder, and Issei had somewhat abandoned the conversation to try to subtly pry the other boy's hand off. But he either had a fondness for hand-cracked walnuts or far too much time logged in front of a computer, because those fingers were _not coming off goddamnit_.

"Shame." Freed mused as Kiba hauled Issei around and pulled him away. Issei shot the man a brief backwards look, and those yellowed eyes were fixed very neatly on their backs. Issei picked up his pace a little, for reasons he didn't quite get.

Kiba's steps were long and hurried, and Issei found himself breaking into the occasional jog to keep up, as they continued the brisk pace along the shadowed overhang of the various storefronts. Issei couldn't even take potshots; one look at Kiba's expression left him shuddering. The crowd parted before them, and Kiba continued to push through briskly, the startled looks melting into appreciation and awe. Issei felt his mood continue to sour as he stumbled along. Like baggage.

Eventually they slowed, Kiba's pace gradually slowing as Issei's slight panting finally caught his ear. They slowly came to a stop in front of a small bakery.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" Issei hissed. Kiba's expression once more sunk beneath his features, a placid one rising to the surface.

The boy began slowly rubbing his arm - his own arm! As though he hadn't tried to wrench Issei's bloody limb off! The nerve! The cheek! The bare-faced wherewithal to disregard him! Rude! What a rude child this was!

"You were lucky." The boy said calmly, ignoring Issei's souring (and perhaps edging on hysterical) expression. "Your two friends, Motohama and Matsuda? They caught me on the street corner and pointed me to Freed." His lip twisted a little. "Though they were recommending I have him burn me at the stake, I appreciated the tip-off."

"That's a _great_ idea." Issei said immediately. "It's not even too late. Cold nights, you know."

"I will _pass_ , Hyoudou-san."

"Like _hell_ you will." Issei felt his teeth clench painfully. "What do you think you were doing. How _dare-_ "

"I believe it is our school-mandated duty to aid our fellow classmates, and prevent them from doing something _stupid._ " The self-righteous expression Issei could barely make out on his face was a harsh one; his eyes were certainly judging Issei in their depths, and he found how _much_ it grated on him to be looked at like that. A lot, as it turned out. A lot a lot! He also, on an unrelated note, was reminded how much he hated blue eyes! And blonde hair! How simply detestable this man was.

 _Calm down Issei, he doesn't know everything, he doesn't_ ** _understand_** ****  
  
"I was asking him a _question._ " Issei contained his frustration. "It's not like I wanted to be part of your _shared history_ or anything! I just wanted to-to know something!"

"You were going to follow a strange man down an alley for a _question._ "

"I wasn't gonna-" Issei fumbled a bit. "It was - like," Issei grew red, and somewhat heated. "I just needed something!"

"I can help instead." Kiba blinked placidly.

Huh?

"W-what?" Issei turned a bit and eyed him strangely. Kiba's face was calm, but there was an edge of honesty to the words he'd tossed out casually. Help _him_? With his personal task? Yuuto Kiba help _him_ , instead of...go to parties or...date cute girls or whatever it was popular people did? He felt his anger vanish with his confusion, and felt himself get frustrated all over again. He _wanted_ to be angry right now!

"Tell me your question. I'll try to help. It matters to you, and I'd rather avoid you throwing yourself into heedless danger any further."

"N-" Issei nearly stamped his foot. "You don't need to know!" This was his task - he didn't need _another_ dude that Yuuma could compare him to! Kiba's popularicism would surely put the poor girl a-fluster! No! "This is _my_ thing!" He glared at the other boy.

Kiba's expression closed itself off, and he took a step back, breaking Issei's impassioned glare. Issei watched him go warily, a little startled by the sudden movement.

"Is that right?" He said softly. "Well then, I apologize for butting in. I'll be seeing you."

What the _fuck._ Was he walking away?

He was. Kiba was stepping back, slowly moving away, with that damnably peaceful expression on his face. Like he'd won. Like he thought he was better than him.

Issei _hated_ that face.

"Get _back_ here!"

"Stay, go, make up your mind Hyoudou-san." Not even once did that expression crack. "Be more decisive. And stay away from Freed Sellzen, Hyoudou-san." He said, turning away. His cool demeanor nearly had Issei hopping in fury. "You don't need to be involved with such people. Just do whatever it is you want and be done with it without troubling anyone else."

"You don't get to _decide that for me_ , you _asshole!_ " Issei hissed. "You don't get to stay that like 'Oh, stupid Ise-kun, stay out of the way, you don't know anything, you're just gonna hurt yourself' like you're my mother!"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. But I won't be around to protect you next time." The parting shot drifted back to him, and he watched Kiba smoothly blend back into the crowd, walking swiftly away. Issei could only stand there dumbly, so angry he was frozen.

Protect?

_Protect?_

This was _bullshit._


	6. Yuuto Kiba is suspicious

"Cold iron...hey Moto, look here, it says that cold iron could help." Matsuda gently paged through the slightly worn book on his desk. "Something something lingering spirits, darkness, yin energy, whatever. We can punch ghosts with it."

"Iron is usually cold, what makes it special?" Motohama looked up from the sheaf of papers he was rifling through. Matsuda ruffled his hair, and went back a page. "Cold iron is...just unrefined apparently?" He said, somewhat perplexed.

Motohama snorted. "That's a distinction to make."

"What've _you_ got." Matsuda snapped. Motohama pushed up his glasses, and drew out a page triumphantly, ignoring the papercut it gave him when he whipped it out of the bundle. "Shinrei Tantei Akechi⭐️kun here says that salt is invaluable for ghostly combat."

A beat.

"What else?"

"That's it."

"You _fucking-"_

Issei sighed. Loud and melancholy, dripping with the weight of a full day or two of introspection, the sound carried for a full twenty feet. Discussion paused respectfully to let it pass, before resuming.

"So, I'm thinking a used butcher knife or something would fit." Matsuda said conversationally. "Bloodied cold iron and all that. Blood + Cold iron, sounds like an upgrade, right?"

"You think? Maybe. Though monsters hating blood sounds off to me." Motohama frowned. "The dreamcatcher didn't work, so whatever it is isn't a tapir or a nightmare or something. You think fairy?"

Matsuda shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Iron works on a lot of things apparently. As long as we hit it, it'll feel it. Grandpa down by the udon place apparently does his own work with the pork. You think he'd loan us the chopper?"

"We eat there often enough." Motohama grumbled. "But I mean, there's always fire. Easier to hide than a bloody knife, I think."

"Man, I don't want to set my house on fire, we just got it bac-"

Issei sighed. The weight of generations pressed down on everyone near enough to hear it pass. Conversation grew strained as atmosphere grew briefly dreary.

"So, I hear dumbasses die quickly." Motohama said.

"Google-san tells me that hiding a body is easy in a classroom." Matsuda posited. "For no reason."

Issei slowly raised his head. "Wow, I just remembered that rowan wood is real good for scaring away bad luck."

"Is it." Motohama's voice was so dry it crackled. Issei coughed a bit and looked away, fighting back another sigh.

"Look Issei, you don't need to help if it bothers you that much, man."

Issei frowned, snapping back to look at Motohama. " _What?_ "

Motohama's eyes flickered down to Issei, sprawled across his desk. Issei looked straight back. Motohama's dark pupils flicked back up to Issei, wills clashing, daring the other to say something about it.

Matsuda stood up from his desk, and began to circle the two, walking around and around the desks. The other two boys refused to look at him, focusing on their peripheral vision to the point of pain, but refusing to break eyes. Matsuda grinned, and kept circling until he stopped beside Issei with a satisfied look on his face. Leaning down, his chin was nearly touching Issei's shoulder.

"Issei, you look stupid." He confided. "Are you constipated?"

Issei burst into snickers, breaking stares and immediately cursed audibly. Sighing, he straightened up, pulling his arms back across from the desk to curl against his chest. He couldn't be bothered to shoot Motohama a look, the prick would only look even smugger than he did now. "No, no, it's not like that. I'm just..." He slid his hands across his face. "...a little tired, I guess."

"You looked like someone sucked your soul out man." Motohama peered at him, light shining off his large round frames. The shit-eating grin made lie of any concern Issei could have _possibly_ believed the boy felt. "Who soured your cheerios?"

Issei grumbled, arms crossed.

The two looked down at Issei, unbudged. Motohama caught a jerk of Matsuda's chin, and shrugged. A second, more forceful jerk saw the shorter boy roll his eyes and lean in closer to Issei. "Kiba." Motohama whispered.

Issei's shoulder twitched. Motohama's lips quirked, looking at this dim little child _trying_ to hide information from his transcendent vision. How stupid. How _foolish._ How pointless! With these glasses, he could catch a skirt fluttering in a crowd at 40 paces! This slug stood no chance!

Issei groaned into his crossed arms. "You heard already?"

Motohama puffed himself proudly. "Not at all! There's no one else in this school willing to speak to me at all, after all! I just saw you probably trying to pay an upperclassman from the regional college nearby to beat him up. And fail! I think. I was too far to hear you speak, but that's totally what I would do."

Matsuda shot him the finger guns, and Motohama replied in kind. Issei groaned, lifting his head out if his hands. "You're an idiot."

"Then explain!" Matsuda demanded.

Issei looked around for an excuse to do literally anything else, but it was lunchtime, and the classroom had cleared out for the most part. The few people left were the one or two other males in their class, the kids too coward to stand out, and a few groups closer to the front of the room.

Issei sighed, and lowered his voice.

"I was totally asking that guy to beat up Kiba."

The other two looked deep into Issei's eyes.

"What are you, four?"

Issei had mixed feelings about this.

Kiba was someone Issei loathed - and perhaps on long nights, he could admit - deeply wished to be. Popular, friendly, and even...with that sort of easygoing calm he had. It wasn't _fair._

 _Protect_ , how fucking _dare_ he.

Thus, it was up to Issei to even the scales. If Kiba couldn't even protect himself, then anything that followed was just hype and bluff. But Issei put someone low odds on being able to do it himself. Lo and behold, some idiot with a grudge stumbled by, and Issei just pointed him in the right direction. God willed it, and who was he to resist?

"But he lost!" Issei cried. "What a loser! Idiot! Dumbass!"

"Easy come, easy go." Motohama shrugged. "You get what you pay for man, and this one was free."

"I just - _one_ punch." Issei slammed his fist into his palm with a wet-sounding slap. Matsuda looked unimpressed. "One punch to Kiba's schnoz, and it's good. I can show that real-lifer the grudge I can bear!"

"Just do it." Motohama said. "Go fuckin'...I dunno, back me here man."

"Solve him!" Matsuda said confidently. Motohama waved his hands in frustration. " _No_ moron, I meant like...feel better. About himself. Violently."

Issei sighed. "I feel like that isn't really the point of beating someone up."

"Who cares?" Motohama shrugged. "You feel better, _he_ gets one over you when he inevitably kicks your ass, though the bar is low enough there that I wouldn't say there's _much_ to feel good about-"

"Man, _fuck_ you." Issei complained.

But Issei appreciated the support - such as it was - anyway. Perhaps it was odd, but he knew the other two understood him.

Maybe that wasn't a good thing, actually. Matsuda read _shoujo_ doujin on occasion, after all, and that was just shameful. But hey, any port in a storm right?

Matsuda abruptly kicked Issei's seat.

"WHY?!"

"You think I can't hear you thinking rude thoughts, asshole?!"

Bull _shit_. This bitch couldn't hear Katase locking them in the storage shed this morning while they were trying to get at the peephole, but he could tell when people were thinking rude thoughts?! Lies! If he could, he would've moved to a different school and started over with a perm and a better attitude!

Issei kicked back his seat and forced himself to his feet. Hobbling away, he turned and gave the two the bird. "Y'all suck anyway!"

"Eat shit!"

"I hope the fangirls kill you!"

_Assholes_

Issei grumbled and stumped off, sliding the door open and moving quickly down the hallway before Kiryuu spotted him and started _another_ shitfight. It was a bright enough day that she could spot him from down the hall, so when a large crowd passed by where he'd been waiting just outside the classroom door, he made sure he was following close behind as they continued to the next room over. They'd be great cover, with their piercings and shiny additions to their uniforms!

Ah, but he'd forgotten he didn't blend in with them at all. Everyone noticed him.

The school was busy at this time of day; busy enough that the hostile, _entirely_ unjustified looks he was receiving were simply _beyond_ the pale. How unfair! He hadn't even flipped their skirts as he passed, what had he done to deserve this degree of antipathy?!

That's right, nothing!

But they were scary and some of those girls totally did cross country because they had calves thicker than his neck, so he was just gonna keep his head down and keep walking. Maybe the glares would go away the closer he got to Kiba?

Yes, yes they did.

Somehow, that was less comforting than he'd hoped.

Now _he_ was the one glaring, as Kiba made sure to call out _ev-ery-one_ by name, class, and in order of social status. The audience appreciated his magnanimity while also respecting his social awareness, and informed him as such through auditory hallucination delivered orally. Issei himself was picking up on some of this, and perhaps wished he understood a little less as Kiba continued his little one-man performance. He could only contain so _much_ homicidal resentment, after all.

And yet, eventually the bell rang, and people slowly filtered into the classroom, Kiba gently waving off people that he was evidently comfortable with as they passed on their way in. But the two found themselves eventually alone in the hallway.

Kiba finally seemed to notice him, turning with a puzzled smile on his face. Issei slowly leaned further back against the wall, as they faced each other in the afternoon light.

The sound of cicadas outside broke the uncomfortable silence. Suddenly, Issei realized that assaulting someone in school would probably get him suspended, and also Kiba was looking at him and this was harder than he thought.

Also Kiba was taller than him. That just was not fair.

"Yes, Hyoudou-san?" Kiba prompted gently.

"I...what's the big occasion?"

Kiba blinked. "What?"

"The..the crowd." Issei waved his hand lazily at the floor. "The...you know."

"That's normal Hyoudou-san." The boy's face smoothed into a politely pleased expression. Issei noted that he seemed comfortable in it. "Do people not come to welcome you to school?"

"Of course they do." Issei said instantly.

" _Without_ shinai."

"Yes."

Kiba thought for a second. "...without pool nets."

Shit. "No."

Issei caught the glimmer of victory in the other boy's eye before it was quashed by a hint of shame. How rude. Issei felt himself glare a little. Kiba looked abashed, coughing a little. "Is there something you _wanted_ Hyoudou-san." He said patiently.

_Thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink_

He'd been sucked into Kiba's pace, and now he was floundering. Shit this was awkward.

"Ghosts." Issei blurted.

Kiba blinked. "What?"

"You uh," oh shit this was going places, "You looked...down on Mr. Sellzen, right?"

"Um." Kiba's brow was furrowing. "I don't believe I expressed such a-"

"But! You'd said you'd heard a great deal about his work!"

The look of polite disbelief and growing consternation on Kiba's face gave Issei strength.

"So do you know any exorcists?" Issei rushed out.

"..." Kiba stared at him mutely.

"You chased away the one I was talking to." Issei said defensively.

Kiba's hand slowly drifted to his pocket, and he went to pull something out, a blank look on his face. Issei flinched back from his expression, squeezing his eyes shut. A gun?! A knife?! Issei _knew_ the blonde hair was natural! Kiba was a foreigner! He was a spy! An assassin! A mafioso! He was going to silence Issei for knowing exactly how much of a shitlord he was!

Or more likely pull out a recording mic and laugh at him.

The latter was scarier.

Instead, something cloth-y smacked Issei in the face. He opened his eyes, and a little _ofuda_ fell into his hands.

"I'm friends with a Miko." Kiba said shortly, withdrawing his arm. "That's blessed. It'll help. If you're haunted or something."

Friends with a miko...? Issei hadn't even met one before...hadn't even known there were any his age around...

He didn't even...

Ah, how detestable this boy was!

Issei's lip curled, and he pocketed the little bit of paper and cloth. "Just carry it around?"

Kiba hesitated, and perhaps a hint of regret flashed across his face? Issei's hand curled around the Ofuda protectively. So this was something important, hmm? Sucks to suck idiot! Like hell Issei was gonna give it back!.

Man, where had his grudge gone? Shit, he'd wanted to kick Kiba's _ass_ a few days ago, but now he was just...

Kiba slowly stilled. "Make a wish." He said carefully. "It's a...blessed talisman, so your prayer will be heard."

_Nervous_

"Sure Kiba." Issei said slowly, stepping back. "Thanks. For the help. I appreciate it."

"It's fine. That friend of yours already conveyed your appreciation."

Issei trembled a bit.

"Who?"

"Ah, that upperclassman." Kiba's thin eyes curved up. "He was very enthusiastic, but alas, he struggled to get his points across."

"I'm glad you appreciated his attempt at outreach."

"They're usually quite friendly, Hyoudou-san." Kiba said affably.

Should he just deck this asshole? He totes could! Hey, maybe if he hit him in the head hard enough, Kiba would magically forget that they'd had a conversation at all. Because Kiba was totally onto him putting a hit out, and that would almost _certainly_ ruin his chances of being popular. And that would be just unforgivable.

Kiba smiled gently, and Issei went cold from the tips of his toes all the way up, stepping back a bit involuntarily. "Alright. I'll remember to be friendlier next time."

Was it just him, or was there a hint of amusement to Kiba's expression?

"Good...good talk."

He continued stepping back, facing the pale blonde boy who continued to stare at him, until Issei eventually turned around and booked it.

God _damn_ those green eyes were creepy. Issei had confirmed it however - Yuuto Kiba had a secret. Something big.

 _Something scary_ his mind whispered.

Issei never noticed the ofuda winking red in his pocket. Kiba's eyes glowed a little in the sunlight, fixed as they were on the retreating boy's back.

"The hell is that?" Matsuda questioned, as Issei walked back into the room with the ofuda twirling by its little string draw around his finger.  
"Your ritual offering." Issei said firmly. "Burn this shit and use the ashes. It's a proper shrine ofuda. It might also be cursed, but I'm sure that'll only make the ashes more effective."

"You _were paying attention!"_ Matsuda clapped his hands together and hurled the book to the side, narrowly missing sending it flying out of the room. "Heavens be praised. Where the fuck did you get it?"

"I-er borrowed it from a shrine miko."

"You even came prepared." Motohama looked impressed. "Did you land the hit?"

Issei refused to meet his eyes. "Yeah. Uh. He said I was so weak it wasn't worth reporting me."

"Wow, what a prick." Matsuda raised a brow. "You gotta work those arms out more man, that's just sad."

"Fuck off." He tossed the ofuda up, and Matsuda snagged it. "Stop talking shit, and go smoke out some ghoulies. Who starts?"

Motohama looked at Matsuda.

"Me."

"Why?!" Matsuda cried.

"It's closer."

Matsuda snapped his fingers in frustration. Had him there. Motohama threw up his hands in victory.


	7. Issei Hyoudou is scared of ghosts

Issei was a rational, innovative individual, with a focus on the now and the important things in life. An objectivist you might say. And Issei was nothing if not focused on objects, yessir. Hot springs, changing rooms, swimming pools, beaches, bathhouses and sauna's alike, yes Issei was indeed an expert and pioneering philosopher in rational self-interest.

Perhaps this was why Issei found himself once again questioning the nature of friendship. While yes, Motohama and Matsuda were his best bros and they'd stood by him through thick and thin, that added up to maybe like 40 friend tokens, tops. He needed to weigh that against potentially walking into a spooky ghost home, and frankly the spooky ghost home was tipping the scales. It wasn't like he believed in ghosts, hell no, but _something_ was suspicious about all this. Oh, maybe some people might criticize him for weighing friendship against possible harm and trauma, but as a _sensible and forward thinking objectivist_ Issei was more than capable of ignoring those people. Yes, by all intelligent schools of thought, Issei should have cheerfully waved these two morons adieu and gone on his cheerful way.

Should have, except Motohama had implied that anyone who backed down was totally a bitch and, _hey now_ , that was a different story. Intelligent, enterprising men like himself could instinctively realize that the stigma of being a bitch was one that would carry for the rest of his days, tainting all social encounters and lowering his personal stock.

 _"_ _Ohohoho, this Ise-kun? Genius, top of his class, handsome and well-liked."_ The girls would titter upon his suave entry. _"_ _Shame he backed down that one time. I heard he was_ ** _totally_** _a bitch_."

Motohama insisted that was how it would go, and that seemed super plausible to Issei. And so he found himself walking behind the other two, trying to figure out a way to weasel out of this without being publicly mocked for it. Unfortunately, all of his brilliant wit failed him, and before long the three of them stopped in front of a door in a house on a street not far from Kuoh Academy.

It felt like the first time all over again; perhaps due to Issei's nerves or the long silence.

"It might be all those fucking crows in that persimmon tree." Matsuda mused.

The tree shivered violently from Motohama's tiny front yard, caws echoing, forcing Matsuda to take wary steps back while Motohama condescendingly stared at him. Issei was too busy staring at the nameplate to join in. It was a lovely bit of copper or brass, a shining brown hallmark of society's acceptance, utterly identical to the hundreds of others they'd passed on the way here. What a beautiful symbol.

"I still can't believe you have a last name." He muttered, tracing the loopy writing on the brass plate. "It's a good one too. It's so weird every time. Like hearing your mother's maiden name. Or seeing your dads ballsack."

"Everyone's seen their fathers ballsack at some point Issei." Motohama said soberly. "It's a formative experience. A societal mandate. Penis envy is fostered in us japanese youths at a young age to keep us humble. Similarly, you must all accept that people with cooler last names than you both exist and keep you down."

He stared proudly at the nameplate, buffed and clean in the sunlight.

"It is a really cool name." Matsuda admitted. "I'd have kept it."

"Why _didn't_ you?" Issei turned around to the two grinning boys, and eyed them suspiciously.

_It was the first day of school, and Baby Issei was trundling into the classroom with a hopeful mien. Oh boy! Baby Issei said to himself, I can't wait to sleep with all the girls in this room! My future harem is now!_

_Class began slowly, and as introductions began, he naturally introduced himself as Hyoudou Issei, harem king. The two sitting beside him had also introduced themselves as Harem Kings, which took a bit of wind out of his sails, but oddly enough they provided only the names Motohama and Matsuda._ **_I'm Matsuda_ ** _, the bald boy had said._ **_I'm also a Harem King, but not a wannabe like that first chump!_ ** **  
**   
_Baby Issei may, in fact, have been a bit scared of his baldness, but not enough to not defend his dream! They'd begun fighting, poking and slapping each other! Until the third voice spoke up._ **_I'm Motohama_ ** _, said the third boy with an odd leer as he looked over the classroom._ **_And I'm your harem king._ ** **  
**   
_It was a beautiful moment, and Issei and Matsuda had immediately broken into applause. What a guy! Incidentally, the ensuing riot had destroyed the classroom, but the three of them had quickly become good friends in the following days of suspension._

"It was my chance to start over with a perm and a new attitude, but I accidentally got a ducktail so I shaved it." Matsuda admitted. "But I went with my first name cause it seemed gangster as hell. Chicks are into bad boys, right?"

"Not really." Issei said. "If anything, they seem kinda disgusted."

"Shit."

"Stupid brainlets." Motohama grinned. "You still haven't figured out the real tech?"

Issei gasped, somewhat awed by this empty boast. How cool, Motohama-kun!

"Lay it on us then!"

"We're listening."

" _I_ wanted all the girls to loudly scream my first name." He said smugly.

Silence. Issei felt his heart fall into his gut. He hadn't expected a real answer, and not one so powerful!

"Every time, we go peeping." Motohama continued ruthlessly. "They all scream ' _Kyaa! Motohama-kuuuuuuun!_ ' Naked. Wet."

The other two simply stopped moving entirely, staring at the shortest boy with something approaching fear in their eyes.

"Shit, what a badass." Matsuda whispered. "I lucked out."

Issei promptly lost his shit.

" _Fuck_! What a genius plan!" He screamed, grabbing his head and shaking it. "But it's too late to go by my first name! I fucked up!"

"Get on my level." Motohama was unrepentantly smug, and it made Issei want to kill him.

"It's like seeing your dad get naked in the hot springs, then realizing that he has the biggest dick in the room." Matsuda mused. "It's an odd mix of pride and envy I feel. And then I realize that I too, possess such genetic superiority and it all comes rushing in. How nice."

Issei howled in anguish, grabbling the little steel gate and rattling it roughly. The loss! The missed opportunity! Gone forever!

Matsuda slapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up!" He said, grinning. "I'm sure you'll find someone willing to call you by your first name. Eventually."

Motohama burst into muffled snickers. Every quiet burst of laughter was another death knell to his happiness. How...how dare they! How dare they not share something so brilliant with him! Weren't they the bestest of bros?!

He turned to look at them, betrayed, but they were leering right back, mockery in their eyes and laughter on their lips. They knew! They felt no pity for him! There was no salvation here!

Issei grit his teeth. "Weren't we here for something?" Even to his own ears, he sounded petulant. But he had to change the subject immediately! There was no winning otherwise!

"Alright." Motohama wiped off his grin, leaning against the brick divider between his home and the next. "So, _Ise_ -chan..." Issei loudly ground his teeth. "What do you know about ghosts?"

"About as much as you two." He said sourly.

"Correct!" Matsuda said cheerily. "Or you would be, if you'd actually been paying attention when we, your best of bestest friends, spoke to you for the past few days instead of sulking."

" _Not_ true."

"He's right Matsuda, he spent at _least_ half that time whining."

"Can you two stop hassling me already?"

"No." Matsuda stated firmly.

"Come onnnnnn!" Issei whined. "I wanna watch Kimiko Kida's new AV! Let's hurry."

"Shit, that's out?! Moto, he's got a serious point here. This is important."

Motohama sighed. "Alright, fine, but then we gotta make sure we do it right."

"Sick." Issei cracked his knuckles. "Have at it."

"Okay, Issei." Motohama blew out a long breath. "Here's the big question. Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Hell no." Issei replied automatically.

Matsuda threw up his hands. "Problem solved, he totally does."

"I do _not!_ "

"I mean, I already knew he did." Motohama said smugly. "Issei is obviously _super_ superstitious. We just need him to admit it, so we can get on with this."

Issei stared at him. "The fuck does that mean?! No, I'm _not._ "

"You super are." Motohama's glasses flashed grimly. "Because if you didn't believe in fantasies, you'd never believe you could get a harem."

_FUCK_

Issei went down _hard,_ doubling over and falling to the ground headfirst. Legs twitching and gently foaming at the mouth, he felt as though all the wind had been driven from his gut.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" Matsuda screamed in horror. Motohama sighed, and pushed his glasses back up.

"It had to be done."

"But not like this!" Matsuda raised his arm, furiously rubbing at his eyes. "You punched out his soul! Extinguished his burning blood! It was too brutal!"

Motohama shook his head. He was firm. Issei _totally_ had it coming.

"I..." Issei rasped. Matsuda and Motohama leaned in.

"I believe in dreams!" He forced out, raising one fist limply to the sky and clenching it. "Ghosts, goblins, ghouls and harems, I choose believe in it all!" He raised himself to his knees, fist still raised.

"That's what it means to be a man!"

"What a beautiful thesis, Issei-sama." Motohama said drolly, both boys golf clapping. "Well done."

"Shut up!" Tears were trickling down his face. "Fine! I do believe in ghosts! If it means I can have a harem, I'll believe in anything!"

"Then! Observe!" Matsuda cried, pointing at somewhere behind Issei.

Drying his bitch tears, Issei turned around a little. Motohama's house was about a block down from campus, and usually this was good for the three of them - they'd sleep over, then camp out the school entrance bright and early when the morning breeze was at its strongest.

Beautiful mornings, those. Full of color. Like festival fireworks.

This also meant that campus was quite literally visible from where they were standing. The dark wall grew shaded as the sun passed overhead, and it made the rearmost building loom above them. It drew the eye, a smear across the horizon, and despite being in slight disrepair it was still beautiful.

They stepped up beside him, and perhaps it was inevitable that the lonely dark structure slowly drew their eyes as well.

"That's the old school building, isn't it?" Issei mused after a bit. "I'd heard it was haunted."

"That's how the rumor goes."

"But." Issei turned back to the other two. "What does that have to do with the house?"

Motohama turned to look at him as well, light turning his glasses opaque. "Alright, look, this is the rundown." His finger traced the old school building. "See that place? It's abandoned right? Perfect place for storing the _secret_ porn, right?"

This made perfect sense to Issei. "It sure is."

"Right." Motohama said grimly. "So I went to do that. Figured we could salvage some stuff too, like a CRT maybe. Those old classrooms had some weird shit. But it wasn't abandoned."

Issei's ears pricked up. "What?!"

"There were people." Motohana repeated. "Voices, lots of 'em, late at night. I booked it once they got too close, 'cause I had that bad feeling, you know the one when we're peeping and we can just _tell_ someone snuck around back and into our secret place and is totally just watching us peep so they can beat us up when we turn around?"

"We're all intimately familiar with that one." Matsuda said drily. "No thanks to-"

Issei interrupted. "-some inconsiderate bitch-ass cowardly little-"

"-hero, who totally saved us all by drawing the heat." Motohama finished primly. "So naturally I booked it this time too."

" _Bitch_."

"Fuck you. Anyway, I made it home, right?" He paused here, a shadow crossing his face. "But something followed me home."

Issei stared at him, trepidation tickling his heart a bit. "What did it do?" He squeaked.

Motohama shrugged. "Eat my bread mostly." He put a finger up and waggled it. "But also leave bloody handprints in the bathroom and use up the toilet paper. But more importantly, the toilet starts rattling a lot at like 4 am every day and making loud groaning noises. It's totally haunted, I'm telling you."

"That's fucked up."

"I _know_ right?"

"Shit." Issei popped a squat, breathing deeply. "Okay, so you think there's a legit ghostie ghoulie in the house? Oogie boogie oogie?"

"Eat shit." Motohama huffed. "You gonna bitch out or not? The tp costs are rising and I won't stand for it. I can't even buy new porn."

Issei sighed, and hopped back to his feet. "Fine. But you two go first." He added quickly.

"Prick." Motohama grumbled. His hand casually slung over the gate, unlatching from the back with practiced ease and swinging it open. Matsuda strolled in, but Issei moved a little slower. It wasn't like he was kinda nervous or anything, but now that he'd accepted that maybe something weird was going on, he saw something weird going on in a lot of other places too. It couldn't be helped, you know.

Motohama seemed to face no such fears, stumping right up to the front door and jiggling the handle. He grumbled as he fiddled with his keys for a second, before he finally jerked it out, and shoved the door open. "Alright, let's move."

Matsuda took a few steps forward, before he turned back to Issei, brow raised. "Dude, you coming?"

Issei sighed, clearing his bone-dry throat. "Yeah, alright." He followed behind the two, noting how skinny their backs were. No cover to be found there, damnit.

The sunlight was hard, and it was almost a relief to be under the shade at last, even if the snapping crows kept him moving quickly behind the other two into the silent home. Off-brand birdsong ushered them in as Issei propped the door open behind them.

Just in case.

The air inside the building hit first, stale and rank, and oddly a little sweet. Little patinas of light followed, the few sunbeams reflecting off of silver tableware still laid out on the dinner set and pans hanging from the ceiling shone into the central passage. But as much as Issei craned his neck, sound didn't follow. There was no dripping water or creaky windowsill upstairs, and oddly enough that put him far more on edge. Like he was waiting for that one drop of water to fall from the broken tap. It was hanging, and before he knew it all his attention was focused on it, nerves fraying, waiting for the relief of it finally splashing.

"Motohama." Issei whispered. He wasn't sure why he was whispering actually, bit his voice refused to go louder than a croak. "Dude. You mentioned that your family left right. Booked it quick?"

"Yeah. Well kinda." Came the reply, equally stifled by the oppressive atmosphere. Motohama's glasses were also shining from the scattered sunbeams, a misty blue.

"How much of a hurry were they in?"

A pause. "I was in class." He said slowly. "We were hanging out. But Mom called me, told me to go to the hotel instead. It was sudden."

"That's a rush." Matsuda said calmly. "Big choice to make in a couple hours. My family took weeks to move. Couldn't make up their minds, see?"

"You're saying they saw something?" Motohama hissed.

"I'm saying _something_ made up their minds _fast_ dude!"

"..."

"...shit." Issei whispered.

They had paused, in the middle of the entrance passage. The kitchen was visible through the half-open sliding door, and the passage onward was just beyond the open doorway ahead. But something rooted their feet down. Issei turned and looked at the entrance. The sun was still shining strongly.

"Look, we're just looking around, right?" Matsuda said urgently. "We just need something we can show a priest, to get him to look at the place for a little cheaper."

"Yeah." Motohama inhaled. "Yeah, let's just look around a bit."

"Sun's still shining." Issei said wistfully. "Nice, bright day out. There's a new shipment of porn at the cornerstore."

"Come on." Matsuda grumbled, shoving him a bit. Groaning, he stood, and the three continued to advance down. The shadows curved around them as they hung a left and continued down the wood-panelled flooring.

"Hold on." Issei froze. The other two whirled around.

""What?!""

"Do you hear that?"

Motohama tilted his head back. "...no?"

Issei had hyperfocused on his hearing, and still barely caught it. A gentle warbling at the corner of his focus. A shivering in the air, where everywhere else was eerily still. He turned, and pointed the other way. "I heard something. It's from down there." His finger hovered over the hallway, into the mild darkness.

Matsuda was looking at him curiously, but Motohama had an oddly contemplative expression on his face.

"That kinda makes sense, actually." He admitted. Issei and Matsuda swapped confused looks as Motohama padded gently the way Issei had pointed. It was an entire panelled wall, but Motohama found something to grab and swept it back, revealing another entrance behind it.

"Holy shit." Issei mouthed. "You have a _second floor_?!" He walked up behind the irritated boy, peering over his shoulder. It was carpeted too, a creamy beige. Just like everything else in here. "And it's behind a creepy door!"

"How come we've never seen it?" Matsuda was pouting a little, peering over Motohama's other shoulder. Motohama turned and thumped them in the chest.

"It's my parent's bedroom dumbasses."

The two stumbled back a bit, scowling. Issei fell heavily on his back foot, and he whirled around to apologize for rattling the kitchenware.

But nothing had shaken. The pans were as firm as if they'd been bolted in place. His breathing got heavier, and he realized that even the sounds they were making barely carried a few feet beyond their bodies. He turned back to the other two, whitening a bit, but they were already looking at him with sick expressions.

Issei swallowed, and offered them a watery smile.

Motohama looked a little constipated. "Soundproofing's real effective these days, eh?" He said weakly.  
Matsuda went to talk shit, but Issei held him back. "Wait."

Issei focused more on the new room. The sound was louder.

"It's a person."

"What happened to the 'soundproofing'?" Matsuda muttered petulantly.

Motohama froze. " _Fuck._ " He cursed violently. "Fuck, are you serious? There's a dude here?"

"I can't tell man!" Issei snapped back, trying to restrain the loudness of his voice. "Can't you hear it?!"

"No!" Motohama hissed back. "I don't hear shit! I wish I could hear a damn thing, because my heartbeat is louder than anything here!"

"Look." Matsuda grunted, shoving Issei's arm off balefully. "We just gotta go check it out right?"

"Are you _stupid?!_ " Issei squealed. "We just marathoned horror movies like last week! What, you wanna go one at a time too?!"

Matsuda got up in his face. "Look. We need something." He said quietly. "Police already gave up. Didn't find nothin'. We need _something_ , or all the porn money is gonna turn into tp money." _And I'll need the same soon_ , were the unspoken words.

Issei swore, but finally capitulated with the other two staring at him steadily. Damnitall, he knew what he'd heard, but their continued insistence that he was full of shit made even that waver.

They went up, one at a time, Issei firmly in the back, up the tiny staircase. It was the kind that doubled back on itself, so Issei whirled around at the landing, checking top and bottom.

Just in case.

The finally hit the top, and Issei barely heard it again. A gentle, wavering cry. The sound of someone weeping alone. Issei stepped up onto the top landing, a flat platform with only a single door leading from it.

"Are you sure, that that's what you hear?" Motohama's voice was nearly inaudible now.

The three were huddled up and facing each other, closed door facing them.

"I'm certain." Issei insisted. "But you can't hear it at all...so it must be a ghost, huh?"

They were all quiet for a long moment, faces shadowed in the pitch dark.

"That's kinda hot." Matsuda admitted quietly.

" _Fuck_." Issei cursed, tears creeping into his eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck! I can't help but get kinda excited! I kinda want it to be a ghost now!"

"A weeping, lonely maiden. Trying to find someone to help her pass on!" Motohama reddened a bit. "I kinda thought it might've actually been a hobo." He admitted. "But this is way better! I get to talk to her first!"

"Oh _hell_ no." Issei jabbed a finger at him. "You dragged _me_ here, I go first!"

"Can I go-"

""Shut up!""

"You have your own house!" Issei accused. "You have a second chance!"

"This is my time to shine." Motohama looked determined. "Mine!" Standing up, he vigorously whirled around. Issei rose into a half-crouch, protest on his lips and shoving Matsuda away with his other hand, but he was too late! Motohama firmly slammed the door open.

Inside lay a pale figure, spread over the covers. Eerily silent, the gentle heaving sobs shaking their shoulders suddenly burst into full volume, Motohama and Matsuda flinching as they could finally heard the odd sound. It was breathy and heavy, the round shape over the covers gasping, beard hairs shivering in the wan sunlight pouring through the shades.

" _I can't believe I died a virgin!"_ The ghost wailed.

Motohama froze on the doorstep, smile carved into his face turning brittle. The man on his parents bed whirled around, eager look on his face. " _Another ghost?!_ " Spotting the three, his silver-lined face fell. " _Oh. Damn._ "

Motohama screamed in fear, Issei and Matsuda screamed in shock, the ghost was startled and screamed as he fell off the bed and suddenly everyone was hitting the floor.

"KILL IT!"

Motohama seized a pot by the door and hurled it across the room, that the ghost dodged with a yelp. Issei dashed in, sliding past and going for the drawer, seizing tiny porcelain by the handful and hurling them. The ghost continued to cry in fear until it realized that the furniture was going through it.

" _Oh right, I'm dead._ " It mused.

They screamed louder.

"DUDE IT'S INVINCIBLE!"

"FUCK!"

Pots and cups and gold were hurled mindlessly across the room, violently splashing against the far wall.

" _This isn't working you know."_ The ghost grunted, arms still reflexively raised. It stepped _through_ the bed and approached Issei, who's voice almost blew out with fear. The ghoulie was pale and tall and slimy and gross and old and bald and _oh god he could see right through it!_

Issei backed up, all the way to the door, and then he turned around and dove down the stairs.

A scream of 'COWARD!' followed by more thumping steps followed him down, but he hit the ground running and kept moving.

But the ghost had totally warped his vision! Everything was painted in shades of beige! He couldn't figure out where the entrance was!

His moment's hesitation was costly, and the two barrelled into his back, full throttle.

There was a sharp pain in his lower back as someone's knee drove into it, and then it was nothing but pain and discomfort as the three of them tangled together and went rolling.

Issei's head slammed into the floor and them vertigo carried him upward, before he hit the floor again, and again!

They finally rolled to a painful stop, limbs tangled and groaning.

" _Ha! That was dumb! Just like my animes. Good time, eh Mil-tan? Aw man."_

They screamed, and Issei nearly bit through his tongue as it turned out Motohama's stupid pie-hole was next to his goddamn right ear and holy fuck he was screaming right into it. A painful twinging whine echoed from his inner ear, and he yelled in more pain until Matsuda thumped him on the hip. They began fighting to get out and away, wobbling in a misshapen pile as they struggled to crawl apart, pain flashing on every body part as joints went flying right into the fleshiest parts of other peoples bodies.

Matsuda continued to wheeze painfully on the ground as the other two finally crawled out, but the sight of the translucent figure chortling and walking not far behind them nearly stopped their hearts.

But there was nowhere to run! They were trapped in this beige prison!

Issei's hand dove into the pocket, seized the little Ofuda, and tore it out, ignoring the pain in his hands. He scrabbled back, holding it up, hand over hand, until he stumbled, bowling himself over.

" _Dude, is that even a real ofuda? I don't feel anything._ "

Issei howled mindlessly, stumbling to his feet, squeezing his eyes shut and trembling. His feet were unsteady and he ached in every place but he clenched his fist until it ached. It tightened until it felt more weapon than flesh, and then he whipped out his fist!

_TWICE_

_CRITICAL_

_Issei felt his strength surge, time taking on a slightly liquid quality as he felt his body simply...give way. The twist of his hips grew forceful as the fist he'd thrown suddenly grew a brilliant red gauntlet. The whistling in his ears reached a fever pitch and he threw his whole weight behind the haymaker_ landing with a solid _crunch_.

There was a moment's resistance to his fist, before that too was blown away with a great roaring sound.

He fell to the floor, spent and panting, as the ghost _slammed_ into the far wall. The house briefly shook a little, jars rattling and pans clanking, a little harmony of chime-like ringing.

Everything was suddenly too loud.

The screaming slowly quieted over the next minute, giving way to panting and whimpering.

Eventually, the other two behind him struggled to their feet.

"Ugh." Matsuda said.

Issei coughed a bit in agreement. They walked up beside him, staring at the pale goopy...thing on the far wall.

It quivered a bit.

"Did..." Motohama coughed a bit. "Did you just punch out a ghost, man?"

Issei looked dazedly at his armored hand. The red twinkled a bit, and then it simply vanished like smoke. "Shit, I think I did."

Then they heard a loud keening noise, and the white shape fell to the floor and start wiggling vigorously. The ghost rolled around wailing, clutching it's - yes, doublechecked - _completely translucent_ cheek.

" _What was that for?!_ " It sobbed.

"You were haunting my house?" Motohama asked weakly. Issei nodded furiously. "I was, like, backing...him..."

" _I showed up 'cause people kept talking about a ghost._ " He sniffled. " _I was hoping it would be a lady ghost, and I could finally get some and erase my regrets!_ "

The two felt air rush back into their limbs. That reasoning was both relatable and hitting far, _far_ too close to home. The pale figure hardly seemed like a threat anymore.

More like a specter. An _evil_ specter.

Issei leaned in closer to Motohama. "Bad news Motohama-kun, not only is this guy just as much of a loser as we are, but he _died_ this way. At this rate, he's gonna haunt us, and our Fuck-Me-Not auras are gonna reach stage=MAX in no time."

"I think this is actually scarier than a real haunting." Motohama shivered. "Is this my future?"

"Almost certainly." Matsuda leaned in the other way.

The ghost whimpered a little. He was still really scary but also super pathetic as well. Well, at least it was over with-

"Wait." Matsuda said suddenly. "He said he came here _after_ you left. So what was haunting you before?"

Issei swallowed convulsively.


	8. Motohama and Matsuda lack karma

"I think." Issei said, and if his voice wavered a bit, no one called him on it. "I've seen enough ghosts for one day."

" _Pussy._ " The ghost grumbled.

"Coward." Motohama grumbled.

"Hear, hear!" Matsuda said enthusiastically. The lot of them looked somewhat worse for wear, (ghost excepting, who seemed to be exactly as sleazy as he was upon death) sweat and dust caking some of Motohama's frazzled hair. Matsuda seemed to have avoided the worst of it however, having been nearly frozen in fear for most of their encounter with the ghost. All eyes turned to Matsuda; he seemed positively thrilled at the concept of being literally anywhere else. He bounced from foot to foot, eyes constantly flickering between the door and shooting the ghost somewhat nervous looks. "Let's just pretend this never happened and find someone who knows what they're doing."

The ghost whipped around on the bed, sliding off and suddenly diving for Matsuda's leg. He yelped and jumped out of the way, and the ghost went sailing past. Rolling to a rather graceless stop as his form turned briefly insubstantial, the ghost popped back up. His expression as he turned to them was teary. " _You can't!_ " He wailed, hands coming up and twisting into knots." _Please don't exorcise me!_ " His features rippled a bit in distress.

"That is _not_ an option." Motohama said sharply, looking slightly away from the ex-man. "I don't care whether it was someone else before, but you're a moving obstacle to my happy time _right now_. You need to move on or _leave._ "

The ghost went quiet, and fidgeted a bit. _"_ _I'm not doing anything though.._." He whined. " _I was just looking for another ghost. People with regrets are pretty rare, you know. Especially pretty people with regrets. This place is my best shot right now._ "

"Wait, what?" Issei looked at the ghost strangely, straightening his back. "What person _doesn't_ have regrets when they die?"

 _"_ _When they're dying maybe._ " The ghost shrugged a bit, sniffling. " _But they usually let that go, you know? Grudges are really hard to hold when you're dead. You gotta be real motivated. It's like the tail-end of a 58 hour all-nighter after a full case of red bull, with another 200 pages to read for a final the next day. Only the really motivated prevail._ "

"But you're still around." Matsuda pointed out thoughtfully.

The ghost puffed up, literally expanding like a pale balloon. " _Yes! I am!_ " He spat. " _I'll read as much as I need to get laid!_ "

Despite himself, Issei felt himself tearing up a bit. "Shit." He sniffed. "You're a brave guy! I feel you man! That's how I got into Kuoh!"

" _I'll never give up!_ " He cried, enthused that they understood him. " _I'll fight anyone to make my dream true!_ "

"Shit, Moto-chan." Matsuda wiped furiously at his eyes. "He's a good guy!"

"We can't even get _ourselves_ laid, what hope does a _ghost_ have?!" Motohama hissed, eyes reddened. "Accept it! The best he can hope for is God sending him to a world where they could use a resentful virgin! Beg to be transported!"

The ghost started rolling around, whining in sadness as Motohama stared at him pitilessly. Issei instead began twirling the ofuda around his finger thoughtfully.

They needed to do... _something_ about this guy. He felt bad, sure, but also something about this ghost was also kinda pissing him off. Namely, the fact that he was hovering around them like the Ghost of Virgin Future. He didn't need a portent as ominous as that!

The ofuda whirled past his ear again, and caught his eye. It was a little heavy. Not much, but a hair heavier than an ofuda should be. He tossed it into the air, and caught it tightly in a clenched fist. Opening it, he examined the little rumpled bag.

It was a proper hemp Ofuda. How strange. He'd visited Ise Shrine as a joke once, and even they'd switched to paper. This was some antique shit.

On closer inspection he confirmed that it was actually an omamori, a personal protection, rather than the household protection he'd assumed Kiba had offered with his talk of warding off ghosts. Issei felt his fist clench around the little hemp bag. He was certain he hadn't imagined the heat it had given off, nor how warm he had felt holding it. Not to mention that weird hallucination of a gauntlet. This omamori had certainly done _something_. Probably.

Maybe.

He swiftly untied it, emptying it out, and actually jerked back in shock as some rice grains fell out. Quite a few grains remained in the bag, so he emptied them out into his hand, rolling them around a bit. Shines to Inari would put harvest rice into their ofuda, but it wasn't really a protective thing. Tossing the rice away, he slid two fingers into the bag, feeling around inquisitively. His fingers caught onto what felt like paper, bumping into a thick edge. He drew it out slowly, careful not to grip hard enough to crumple it, and pulled out two papers laid atop one another. The first was a thin folded sheet, reading _Zochouten_ in flowing calligraphy. That made the miko in question one dedicated to Summer. Issei could even think of her likely location; the old Summer Festival Shine up in the hills.

Which made the other paper so odd. It was also a tightly folded square, but when opened, it unveiled a carefully drawn circle, full of lines and odd squiggles. Issei raised a finger, and carefully traced out a pentagram from the connected lines.

"What are you up to?" Issei murmured. This was not the sort of thing you'd expect to be given, much less in an Omamori. This looked more like the _problem_ than a solution.

"What the fuck is that?" Matsuda walked over, and peeked around Issei's head. "Jesus, look at that linework. Is that a curse? Is someone cursing you?"

Issei shouldered him off, waving the paper a little. "It's from Kiba."

"So, yes. It's totally a curse."

Issei shrugged. "He put it in the Omamori man."

Matsuda eyed the little paper oddly. " _That_ was in the ofuda? Is he trying to get smited or something? That's bad luck man."

"He said he knew the shrine maiden who made it." Issei said, shrugging. "Maybe he thinks it's worth it."

"So." Motohama's voice grew heavy as he faced them. "He finally manned up and decided to get even for all those times we cursed him, spat at him, nailed his effigy to walls, -" Matsuda and Issei began nodding along thoughtfully, "-sacrificed chicken blood to wish bad luck at him, shoplifted and told the officers we were him, bought freaky porn in his name-"

" _I think he definitely decided to get even._ " The ghost said bleakly. " _In fact, I think he probably wants you all dead._ "

"But why?!" Issei cried. He roughly shook the paper at the heavens. "Damn you Kiba, why would you do this?! I've done nothing wrong, ever! Answer me!"

The paper faintly glowed red, flickering and popping.

" _Uh?_ " A faint voice popped into Issei's head. " _Yes? Hello? Who is this?_ "

Issei froze, paper going limp in his hand.

" _Hello?_ "

Motohama slowly walked over, and waved his hand in front of Issei's head. "Dude? Hello?"

"What." Issei croaked.

" _Who?_ "

"What?" Motohama blinked.

Issei trembled a bit. "K-Kiba?!"

Motohama whirled around. "Where?!"

" _Hyoudou-san?!_ " The tinny voice went flat. " _What's going on?_ "

Issei slowly looked down at the paper. It was glowing very slightly, light rippling down the pentagram in the center and circling about the entire pattern.

It popped again, faintly singing his hand.

"I'm cursed!" Issei screamed, hurling his hands up in fear. "I'm dying! My life force is being drained!"

Motohama dove out of the room, frantically looking around. "Matsuda!" Echoed his panicked voice. "Kiba's somewhere around here! That prick is definitely trying to finish us off! Find him!"

Matsuda seized the stair bannister and hurled himself up them. "I bet he made the ghost show up!"

" _I don't know who the hell you're talking about._ " The ghost insisted. " _But that definitely didn't happen."_

Issei continued wailing, falling to his knees and rolling around. "Oh god I'm gonna be old and wrinkle up and be impotent! I'll never get some!"

" _Hyoudou-san!_ ** _Calm down!_** " Kiba's ghost voice said impatiently.

Issei stopped rolling, sniffling a bit as he curled up on his side. "What?"

" _You're not cursed._ "

"I can hear you in my head." Issei said. "You're very clearly haunting me."

" _I'm not dead Hyoudou-san._ "

Issei slumped a bit. "Damn."

A brief chuckle echoed in his head. " _Hyoudou-san, how did you use the summoning circle?_ "

"The what?" Issei blinked. "This paper is how you're talking to me?"

He definitely did not imagine the gusty sigh in his head. " _Hyoudou-san, where are you._ "

"Motohama's house." His mouth said automatically before he thought better of it. He cursed, and held his head. Shit!

" _...the haunted one?_ "  
Issei uncurled. "Oh yeah. It's totally haunted."

" _Oh really_?" The response seemed almost sarcastic to Issei's ears. Issei felt the prick to his pride. "Yes!" He blustered. "In fact, the ghost is right here!"

" _Alright._ "

Issei shook his head. "Look, I wanted to talk to you anyway." He said firmly.

" _Me? You wished to speak to_ ** _me_** _?_ " The perplexity was the first time he felt as though Kiba had been truly taken aback. " _What for?_ "

"You know a miko, right?"

" _Technically, yes._ " He replied slowly. " _Although I don't believe I can offer you another Omamori quite at this moment_ -"

"That's not it." Issei interrupted. "I need to know how to exorcise a ghost."

"... _Well, I suppose all you'd need to do would be to convince the ghost that it would be better off moving on. I could try and get you a better answer in a little bit of time._ "

Issei thought about that for a minute or two, before a brilliant idea hit him. "Alright, thanks." He said absently. Kiba went quiet, so Issei guessed that he'd stopped haunting him. Hopefully.

He stood up and whistled, loud and clear. Motohama and Matsuda popped their heads back into the room, looking confused and scared.

"What's up-" "-what's going on?"

"I have an idea for helping our ghost friend." Issei said, waving them over.

They didn't budge.

Issei sighed. "Kiba wasn't actually here - look, it's a ghost thing, I'll explain later."

The ghost looked oddly unnerved by this, but Motohama and Matsuda pushed past him grudgingly with only a passing shiver. Issei lowered his voice as they approached. "Look, this guy's gotta go. I like him, but he's also a depressing pain in the ass. In light of that, I have two questions. One, is it immoral to lie to ghosts?"

"Nah." Motohama waved him off. "They're dead. Fuck 'em."

Issei nodded thoughtfully. "Alright. Two, anyone opposed to me getting rid of him."

"Nah." "I like him, but I like porn more."

Issei nodded understandingly, and stepped around them, waving the paper at the ghost. "Hey! Ghostie!"

The virgin ghost blinked, and pointed at himself. Issei nodded, and he perked up a bit. " _Yeah?_ "

"I was talking to one of my associates." Issei said smoothly. "He's an expert. I was asking him how to help you out, and he told me not to worry about it."

" _What?_ " That threw the ghost for a loop. " _Really? Why?_ "

"Wait what." Motohama hesitated. "I mean yeah, we sure did. Just for you. We wanted to help you out."

"He told us something super important." Issei said, pausing to build anticipation. "Heaven is real - and _full of angels with huge tits._ "

Matsuda snorted violently.

The ghost's eyes widened until they looked like they were gonna pop out. " _S-Seriously?!_ "

Motohama and Matsuda began snickering quietly behind him, and put up thumbs-up for the ghost's benefit. Issei waved his hands with authority. "Yeap. Totally. Pinky promise."

" _S-shit! Pinky promise is legit._ " He began wavering furiously, looking between the three of them with growing excitement. " _Oh-oh shit! I'm excited now! Fuck this mortal plane, I wanna move on! Cute angels man!_ " His ectoplasmic shape began to contract and expand, furiously moving in odd shapes. Issei quelled the deep fear in his chest at the actual spooky ghost in front of him, comforting himself with the fact that the ghost was both punchable and a huge bitch.

The ghost suddenly formed an expression of vein-popping focus. " _I think I can do this. It was in me this whole time, I think I can figure out what to do!_ "

"Go for it!" He said weakly.

" _I cannot believe he bought this."_ Motohama muttered, covering his mouth. " _This poor moron._ "

" _I-I'm doing it!_ " The ghost slowly turned slightly transparent head-down. " _I'm moving on! I see the light! It's totally there!"_

"Go-" Matsuda choked a little, holding his laughter back. "G-go on! Go to heaven!"

"Oh! I totally am!" The ghost happily wiggled. " _Angels, here I come! This is great! I-I can nearly see it! I-I'm doing it guys!_ "

They began applauding and cheering. "You're doing it!" Issei said, raising his hands over his head. "Go on! You can do it! Fight-o!'

" _I'm fighting guys!_ " He sounded on the verge of tears. " _I see them! The pearly gates! They were there! It was true!_ "

Matsuda nearly choked on his own laughter. "Y-You got it!" He wheezed. "Go on! Right through them! Outta this house!"

"Hold on." Motohama's clapping paused, and he narrowed his eyes. "He's _seeing_ them? Something's not right here...weren't we just making shit up?"

Issei's hands slowed down as well. "Maybe he's hallucinating?" Issei wondered. "Beats me man. I mean, how good could it possibly be?"

" _Holy shit!_ " The ghost suddenly shot up, the rate of his vanishing spiking as his voice began to fade. " _It was legit! The angels are here! They're so HOT! Whoa!_ "

Everyone immediately stopped clapping, hands freezing. "WHAT?!" Issei wheezed.

" _Hot angels!_ " The thrill in his voice seemed to buoy him away, almost vanishing to the tips of his ephemeral toes. " _They're everywhere! This is_ ** _my_** _time! Thanks guys! Later!_ "

And with that the ghost vanished, leaving the three of them standing alone, cold. The deal silence dragged, as they could almost see the dream of paradise in the space the ghost had left.

"A-angels." Matsuda croaked in disbelief. "H-hot angels...everywhere..."

"Just like that." Issei said, shell-shocked. "He just went to the great harem in the sky. Heaven is real and it's full of babes."

Motohama slowly leaned down, and picked up a smooth piece of jagged ceramic.

"Put that shit down, motherfucker." Matsuda said sharply, still staring at the empty bed. "You're not going _anywhere._ We still have more work to do."

"It's right there." Motohama said dazedly. "They're waiting. The hot chicks."

"Be reasonable." Issei said mildly, ignoring the ringing in his ears as all his blood rushed through his body. "They probably won't want you there either."

The ceramic dropped with a loud _crack_.

" _Shit!_ " Motohama moaned, falling to his knees. "This is too much! Ghosts are real, and also probably get more than us! We really are the bottom of the totem pole!"

Matsuda slowly straightened up. "No." He whispered. "You don't understand!"

Issei turned to him blankly. "What." He said. "What don't we understand."

Matsuda's eyes teared up a little. "We get _two!_ " He choked out. "We can have _two_ harems!"

Issei felt his entire body rising up, those words falling into his ears and sinking into his flesh. All the hairs on his body slowly stood, as he felt the energy filling his body.

"Two..."

That word fell, like a feather from heaven.

"Shit." Issei said, rubbing his hands on his pants. "Shit, we need to get real. We need to get super serious right now."

"What?" Motohama whipped his head around. "What are you talking about."

"Morality points dumbass!" Issei gestured violently at the empty bed. "You only get to go to heaven if you're a good guy! We need to bank that shit!"

Matsuda turned to Issei. "Wait, hold on. Is peeping on girls a bad thing? Does that send you to the hell place?"

"Nah." Issei demurred. "God made panties to be stared at. We're still good, I think."

"Alright." Motohama turned to them, stone-faced. "We need to get karma. How the fuck do we do that?"

Matsuda befan snapping his fingers as he thought. "Shit, shit, shit. Uh, monks, Buddhist monks." He said distractedly. "Don't they do exorcisms for karma?"

"Shit yeah!" Issei said urgently. "We've basically already done that!"

"..." they paused and blinked at each other.

"Are we done then?" Issei asked hesitantly.

"Wait." Motohama said abruptly. "Who got the xp for the ghost kill?"

They traded looks that slowly grew hostile. "You know, Issei-chan, it was pretty suspicious that you were so gung-ho to fight it." Matsuda said darkly. "Were you hiding something?"

"Not at all." Issei said tightly. "But you were cheering pretty loudly, huh? You and Moto-chin here, you really pushed him on."

Motohama sighed. "I'd say there was plenty to go around. But, in fairness, Issei did the most. So we all got shares, but Issei got the most."

The simmering tension didn't leave at that, but it eased slightly, as they began pondering their chances of going to heaven.

"But is that enough?" Issei asked.

"...nah." Matsuda sighed. "No way. If it was that easy, monks wouldn't wander around so long."

"But ghosts are _rare_." Motohama argued. "That ghost said so himself. It's gotta take a while to find them."

Matsuda bit his lip. "So we lucked out. But how many more?"

"A couple." Issei said firmly. "Gotta be. Not enough ghosts to go around, otherwise. Those buddhist monks would be, like, kicking the shit out of each other otherwise."

"So what're we gonna do?" Motohama said slowly.

Issei thought about it for a brief second. His hand tightened around the Ofuda once more.

"Kiba!" Issei called out, grimly serious. "You know about ghosts. right?! You knew about heaven! Help us find ghosts!"

They looked at him like he was deficient, but he ignored them.

The silence in the back of his head continued, but the faint light on the sheet of paper held in his hand told him that Kiba was still listening. So he kept waiting, willing his anticipation and anger at the weird Kiba-spirit in the back of his head.

A faint, almost staticky crackle echoed in his mind. " _I didn't._ " Kiba said slowly. " _I said nothing of the sort, in fact. I'm more in awe that you successfully exorcised the ghost haunting Motohama-san's home._ "

"Oh it wasn't the only one." Issei assured seriously. "He only showed up like yesterday or something apparently. There's something else here. Maybe."

A long silence echoed.

" _Hyoudou-san._ " And suddenly Kiba was as serious as he'd been around Freed. " _Hyoudou-san_ , _you need to leave that home immediately._ "

"What?" Issei scoffed. "Didn't you just see our super cool exorcism? Why would we leave?"

" _Hyoudou-san!_ " He sounded urgent, and despite himself, Issei began looking around, slightly warily. Motohama and Matsuda stared at him worriedly, but had the decency not to ask why he was holding a sheet of paper to his ear like a toy phone. " _Hyoudou-san, Motohama-san's home is near the occult re- the old school building, isn't it? How close is it?_ "

"Sure." Issei strode over to the east-facing window, peeking a bit under the blinds at the tall building off in the distance, hovering like a specter over the area. "Yeah, I can see it from here. Maybe like a kilometer or two down."

That staticky crackle echoed again.

" _Hyoudou-san!_ " Kiba said firmly. " _Please place the paper in your hand on the floor, and back away._ "

Issei froze up for a second, before hurling the paper at the floor and backing away. Something in Kiba's tone had him obey. He sounded resolved for something, and as Issei watched that paper flit side to side in the air, he felt nervous at finding out what. Motohama and Matsuda slowly walking up beside him, and placing their hands on his shoulder. It flitted, slower and slower, closer to the floor, and as it did, the glow upon it slowly intensified. Their eyes remained fixed on it, until it finally touched the ground with an almost audible _tap_.

The glow burst, brighter and brighter, and all three squeezed their eyes shut as a sun burnt itself into their retinas.

Then it vanished, and they opened their eyes to Kiba Yuuto standing on the wooden flooring, almost glowing in the wan light, surrounded by scorched bits of paper. The look on his face was solid, so resolute seemed he.

"What the fuck." Matsuda breathed. "Issei-what? What's going on?"

"The Omamori." Issei said hoarsely. "It did - it caused this."

Kiba slowly turned to them, and there was ice in his eyes. "It's good to see that you are all still so energetic." He said mildly, and tension frissioned across their shoulders.

They stepped back. Normally, they would have shouted him down, but normally Kiba didn't appear with a flash and a bang like a genie from a lamp.

"What are you." Motohama croaked, face paling to milk. "What's going on here, what - what the fuck _are_ you?"

Kiba paused for a second, before a tail slowly unwound itself from his back. A black, spadelike tail that whiplashed itself through the air with a _crack_ as he eyed them.

"I'm a devil." He said simply. "And if you don't listen to me, we may be in some slight, very _real_ danger."


	9. Strangers are just friends you haven't made yet

Issei slowly shut his mouth, straightening up and pacing a bit. Yes, he was existentially terrified of the potential ramifications of devils both existing and appearing like XL sock burrs in people's homes. But more than that, he was super curious!

"Are we on Satan's watchlist now?" Issei blurted out. "Are we bad people? Can we _still go to heaven_?!"

"Yes, yes, and yes." Kiba said patiently, tail expressing otherwise as it thrashed madly behind him. "All very important things, Hyoudou-san, I know, but we are in _danger_."

Motohama was making a high keening noise from somewhere behind them, but Issei didn't really have any mind to pay attention to him. His mind was currently washing out to sea, drifting off on that great tributary of the mind, that great sea of Arabia that flowed and wound through his thoughts like a hissing serpent squeezing the sides of his head and pouring the juice out into the earth where it pooled into lake after lake, washing into that river of Denial that poured down the back of his eyes and flowed out of his mouth as " _Buuuuullsssshiiiiiiiittttttttt._ "

Kiba's brows wrinkled a little. "What?"

"Kiba." Issei stared him dead in the eyes. "You just jack-in-the-boxed out of a paper on the floor. What the _fuck_ are you on about?!"

"I'm a devil." He responded promptly, lips quirking. "Not God. You _are_ still in danger, you know."

"How can you _possibly know that?_ "

"Because I know what they were here for, and why they chased off Motohama-san's family." Kiba narrowed his eyes. "You _did_ say that your ghost only showed up today, by it's own admission, yes?"

"I mean, yeah?"

Kiba's satisfied look irritated Issei to no end, whether it was because of Kiba's smug confirmation that they were all hypothetically in danger, or the fact that he just hated seeing Kiba happy, he couldn't say.

' _That isn't an answer!'_ Issei wanted to scream, but Matsuda was louder.

"Moto- Moto? Motohama?" Matsuda said from behind Issei, voice a little quavery. "Dude, you okay?"

" _Taillllll_." Motohama whispered, wide-eyed look fixed on Kiba's spare appendage as it serpentined idly in the air. Kiba, to his credit, looked somewhat embarrassed by the open shock.

Matsuda turned back to Kiba. "Look what you did!" He cried. "Moto-chan can't handle this! He's a delicate highschool boy, you know! Take responsibility!"

"I'm sorry." Kiba calmly folded his arms. "I refuse."

" _Tail_." Motohama mumbled, a little teary.

"You need to get past it Motohama-san."

Undaunted, the blonde boy stood among them, simultaneously one of so many normal students, and yet so much more. It was a testament to how frayed they all were, that Issei could look at him, and keep his priorities straight.

"Did you replace your spine with a furry worm or something?" Issei demanded. "I want to touch it."

Kiba whipped his tail back, a faintly scandalized expression crossing his face. " _No!_ "

Now that was rude. How rude. Issei was almost hurt, if he hadn't already had no expectations for Kiba having manners at all. How dare he whip a tail around and not let people touch it. That was a fucked up thing to do.

"Can _I_ get a tail?" Motohama asked weakly.

Kiba paused. "Tech..." He said reluctantly. Then, something flashed behind his eyes, and he grew thoughtful. A few seconds of silence passed, Motohama shifting slightly uncomfortably, before Kiba answered.

"Nope."

Issei blinked. "You changed your answer." He accused, pointing at Kiba's face. "You were gonna say 'technically', you totally were."

Kiba slapped Issei's hand aside. "I was not." He had the gall to look affronted, and Issei felt furiously justified in hurling some bit of garbage on the floor at him

He missed, because of course he did.

"You're so full of shit!" Matsuda hissed, joining in the makeshift stoning with a tiny piece of ceramic. "Why're you such a liar, huh Kiba?!"

"I'm not." His tail thrashed violently, implicit threat in it's movement as he swayed out of the way of some dirty pottery.

The floor seemed to chill underfoot, a subtle menace undercut by the three boys finally realizing how stupid Kiba's tail looked pushing the back of his shirt up.

Kiba sighed in irritation as they continued staring at the black tail. Suddenly, it seemed to wind backwards, vanishing...somewhere. They blinked, and it was like he was the same stupid Kiba that they were used to.

Somehow, this was even worse. At least Devil Kiba had _something_ cool going for him.

"Now, we need to get going. These questions are eating up the time we have to escape," Kiba continued blithely, ignoring the accusing looks, "I wouldn't have bothered revealing that I'm a devil, unless it was _urgent_." He seemed slightly piqued by the implicit accusation, glaring a little at Issei. Issei scratched his head in slight embarrassment.

The boy had responded to _his_ call, after all, so it was unfair to believe that Kiba was somehow behind all this. Which meant...

"So we totally _can_ still go to heaven." Issei said, relieved.

"We're in the clear boys." Matsuda announced, turning and high-fiving a shellshocked Motohama. "Our souls are still clear for approach to Harem-land. Issei might be damned though, but that's fine."

"What?!"

" _You_ still summoned the devil." Matsuda pointed out. "It's your responsibility now."

"But I didn't want it!"

"Then you shouldn't have let it follow you home."

Motohama's hand limply slid back down to his side, as he shook like a noodle in a draft. "How do these things keep getting in." He said absently.

"It's the beige." Issei nodded wisely, shooting Matsuda a dirty look. "No sense of hominess at all. People think they can just walk in 'cause it looks like a test house."

Kiba, stalking to the side of the room, traced a finger against the wall. " _Things_? Rude." He muttered. "But then, you aren't particularly attached to this home, are you Motohama-san?"

There was a brief moment of silence, as Issei and Matsuda paused and snuck a curious peek at a wax-faced Motohama. Motohama shifted uncomfortably, turning away from their looks.

"Regardless." Kiba continued softly. "I suspect our other intruder already has his answer."

Issei blinked, head snapping back the other way. "What?"

Kiba turned to them, patient blue eyes as still as ever, and slowly lifted a finger to his mouth.

The three slowly quieted as they watched Kiba carefully. The boy held his ground, staying very still, and they found themselves unconsciously mimicking him, breathing silently and stiffening their joints. A pall seemed to fall over the home, a tense silence where suddenly the wind became the loudest source of any noise around.

The clatter sounded like a gunshot in the silence; it was so loud that it felt as though the whole street would sit up and take attention.

It echoed once more, a tap, a clatter from some far off source.

" _It seems we have run out of time._ "

Very, very gently, Kiba raised one foot and placed it in front of the other, moving even quieter than the breeze. Issei swallowed softly and followed the boy, pulled by his curiosity and fear behind the infinitely more confident devil, and like on strings, Motohama and Matsuda were dragged helplessly behind. And so, master and puppets moved as one slowly, _slowly_ down the corridor.

" _Bedroom_." Motohama moaned gently, quickly recognizing where Kiba was leading them. " _Why is it always my parent's bedroom. I don't even hide my porn there._ "

The stairs seemed to grow longer with their pace, every quiet step an age. Issei kept fighting the urge to simply rush up, but Kiba's stern look and the cloak of palpable tension around him held Issei in place, as it did Motohama and Matsuda behind him. So they continued their silent passage up both flights of stairs, and to the bedroom door that still lay silently half-open.

Issei tensed, but Kiba pushed it open casually, stalking inside and pausing in the middle of the room. Issei stepped carefully past him, half looking for the intruder, half making sure the Ghost hadn't returned after failing to sleep with an angel.

There was nothing but pieces of ceramic on the floor, and the window tightly shut with evening sunlight streaming through.

"See?" Issei grinned, slowly relaxing. "Nobody. It was a cat, or something."

Motohama and Matsuda picked their way through behind him, moving broken shards aside and looking distastefully over the wreckage. However, Kiba simply turned, solemn look in his eye, and pointed mutely behind them. Issei's eyes swept past the open door, to the perpendicular master bathroom.

The master bathroom, from where light shone from beneath the door.

Light that flicked _off_ with a silent _click_.

Unceremoniously, all four boys dove away and slammed into each other, stumbling apart. Kiba recovered quickly, quicker than Issei's swirling vision could catch, diving somewhere around them. Groaning, Issei blindly imitated him and hit the floor. He couldn't make much out, but the space under the bed welcomed him, promising safety for him and all his porn as it had so many times before. He reflexively scooted under it, rolling to the side when Motohama slammed into him trying to get in.

It was evidently a somewhat common reflex.

Eventually, they tumbled in, slightly dizzy, and focused their ears and eyes to catch sight of the intruder.

" _Oh shit, we're facing the wrong way._ " Issei whispered. Motohama quietly groaned in irritation.

The door creaked open behind them, and they struggled to fit closer under the bed, hair prickling on the back of their necks. The sound of leather gently creaking as footfalls echoed near their feet, as the intruder stepped onto the creamy carpet. There, sound paused, and the slow rasp of someone drying their hands was the only sound that anyone could hear. Issei suddenly became aware of his own breathing, and the pounding in his chest, and the itching all over his body.

Issei frantically reached back, to rub the back of his neck, but slammed his elbow into Motohama's face, sending his glasses skittering a bit while he hissed in pain.

The hands paused. They both froze.

"A cat?" Came the quiet murmur, a slightly nasal voice deepening in thought. "Or perhaps they're still in..."

Issei felt like vomiting in sudden fear as his heart shot into his gut.

"Sure am."

So _that_ was where Matsuda was.

* * *

Matsuda offered the man his widest grin, as he slowly made out familiar features in the priest standing before him. Slim limbs, large head and thin nose. A mouth like a gash and eyes like aged paper, the priest he'd known as Freed slowly stepped closer into the sunlight with his black clothes whispering against the carpet.

The older man looked at him oddly. "Are you the resident?" He asked cautiously, parchment eyes looking over him.

Matsuda felt the pit of his gut rumble with dislike and indigestion, and allowed his best pleasant smile to rest on his face. Issei and Motohama were below the bed, silent and still, and a near-indiscernible clatter of the closet door revealed a tense Kiba. But Matsuda, himself, was kinda tired of peeking around. He'd had kind of a long day, god _damnit_ and he was sorta sick of running away. This time Issei didn't need to be the one doing the punching.

His sports haircut was a symbol of his manly pride after all! If he couldn't even be bothered to try, he should grow out his hair like Motohama and resign himself to a life as a tool.

So he stood, staring the odd priest down, game plan on his mind.

Matsuda grinned. "The name's Motohama, by the way."

A muffled sound of indignation widened his smile.

Offhandedly, he looked over the priest, and questioned, "Who the hell are you?"

The priest seemed to stall for a minute. "Erm."

Matsuda took the chance to point at him accusingly. "Why're you in my house? Are you a pervert?!"

Freed blinked. "No. Definitely not."

—

Motohama was somewhat conflicted at this point. On one hand, he wasn't the one sticking his neck out. On the other, Matsuda had given his name, instead of his own.

This was somewhat bad, for a number of reasons, mostly because he was currently banking his safety on Matsuda's ability to carry a bit. Heart hammering in his chest, he felt a hint of fear at the confirmation that whoever the intruder was, he was definitely a pervert.

* * *

"I'm here to investigate." Freed said casually. Matsuda blinked, mouth dry, and mentally stumbled. "Eh? Investigate what?"

"I heard something." Freed insisted. "Something from around here. You have, like a cat or something? It was definitely like a squeak. Super loud. There's like a bunch of dangerous animals running around, so I was concerned. Any pets?"

"No." Matsuda said honestly, before he realized what he'd said. "I mean, it wasn't an animal. It's a -" Out of the corner he saw Kiba cover his face, blonde hair sticking up. "A broom! It fell over. A dirty broom." He babbled, feeling the heat rush to his head. "I broom a lot! But it's annoying to keep storing it! I just shove it in the closet!"

"Oh, wow. That's pretty unhygienic man." The priest simpered.

"You're right, I guess I should fix that. Really, I should." Matsuda said, deeply relieved. "Actually, I should fix a couple of things. Why don't I start with _who you are and what you're doing here_."

"I'm a priest." Freed said with the confidence of a man drowning and choosing to spit in the hand of the lifeguard. Evidently, Matsuda wasn't the only one somewhat lost for words. "It's my civic duty to investigate strange noises and help out my neighbors. Love thy neighbors or something. Bible."

Matsuda immediately caught movement out of the corner of his eye, Motohama and Issei slowly wiggling their way out from under the bedbackwards, feet first. Right into some scattered porcelain. He had to think fast. They needed to subdue Freed, but he wasn't in a position to do that. Freed may be armed, and really, it wasn't like he was scared, but Freed might take his friends hostage or something. Priest his ass, people didn't just wander into random bathrooms.

But that gave him an idea.

"Bible! You must be practicing for an exorcism!" Matsuda clasped his hands together.

"There's an exorcism?" Freed blinked. "I mean, yes. Yes, I'm here for exorcism practice. I heard this area was haunted. With, uh, animals. Animal ghosts."

He wasn't even that wrong.

Matsuda watched the man's hand slowly move away from his pockets with some trepidation. "That's good." Matsuda said, and suddenly coughed violently in shock, as Motohama accidentally kicked some porcelain while trying to struggle out from under the mattress.

"Are you alright?" Freed said, and if he wasn't standing in Motohama's parent's bedroom right now, he might have even seemed believably concerned.

"Totally fine." Matsuda said, rasping, and he quickly realized Freed hadn't heard the porcelain clatter. "It's the dust. I was cleaning this place before the exorcism."

Issei and Motohama had finally crawled out, cramping themselves into little shrimp positions to avoid disturbing more shards as they slowly stood up behind Freed. Neither seemed to recognize him from behind, but they stood up with obvious murderous intent. They moved into slow half crouches behind the priest, and even Kiba slightly slid the closet open for the ambush.

"-sweeping?"

Matsuda blinked, the sudden shock of fear when he realized he'd been staring behind Freed with his breath held, sent his mind a-whirl. "What?"

Freed eyed him suspiciously, which was pretty fucking rich for a maybe-burglar. "Why would you sweep before an exorcism?" He repeated. "Aren't you afraid of being haunted?"

"My porn is more important." Matsuda said absently.

"My _man!_ " Freed said enthusiastically, lighting up like a christmas tree, in a way that made his coat sway open and reveal _several sharp metal tools_ that Freed immediately swept back under his coat with a less than casual gesture.

Freed coughed a little.

"I mean, that's sin." He said weakly.

Apparently the fear in Matsuda's eyes was visible to Issei and Matsuda, because instead of proceeding to attack Freed they _turned around and crept into the closet where the hell were they going_.

"Yes," He said tightly, irritation boiling up his throat beside his fear and acid reflux. "My horrible, degenerate porn. You would not believe what I watch. It's horrible. I have a problem. Several problems, even!"

Freed looked immensely entertained by this admission, amusement sweeping away the caution in his eyes, which was very odd for someone who'd been caught breaking and entering. "Oh really? Please, do tell. I'll absolve you of your sins. Totally."

"Well-"

* * *

" _I'll kill him_." Motohama whispered hoarsely. Beside him, Kiba rolled his eyes and slowly slid past him, giving him and Issei room to move to the far side of the closet, closer to the bedroom door.

" _Don't think about it._ " Issei whispered, unwilling to admit how much he was enjoying Motohama's misery. He slowly curled his fingers around the closet door and slid both doors aside, covering up Kiba once more and allowing them to slip out while Matsuda kept Freed distracted. This side of the two-door closet was next to the bedroom door, so they were out before anyone noticed.

The stairs felt more precarious on the way down, threatening to send them toppling as they quietly moved, and Issei found himself half-sliding down the bannister from how hard he clung to it. Placing feet upon the carpeted floor once more was arelief, and he nearly doubled over as exhaustion hit all at once.

Motohama seemed to feel no such thing, striding quickly over to the kitchen where the knives gleamed on racks over the sink. They'd seen the fear in Matsuda's eyes, and with Kiba and his magic tail watching over him, they'd decided to actually try and get something to defend themselves with. Motohama had already started comparing the blades, but Issei found something else catching his eye. A flashing light, blinking slowly, strobing the already mild shadows in the entrance hall. Curiously, Issei walked closer, following the light through the hall and taking a turn as he found himself slowly approaching the front door. The light grew brighter with every step, and Issei slowly slid down and peeked through the glass.

* * *

"Moto..." Came the low call of Issei's whiny voice. Motohama flinched violently, whipping his headaround as the noise echoed through the bottom floor. He felt anger filling him. Hadn't they done this silently to prevent that sketchy weirdo from discovering them? Lord, preserve his patience from morons and fools.

He stalked over, making sure _he_ was walkingquietly and smoothly so that when Issei noticed he'd feel bad about himself, and quickly approached the front door where Issei was crouched. Issei turned to him, and Motohama found himself stopping in his tracks at the somewhat sick expression on Issei's face.

"Moto." Issei croaked. "It's the fucking police."

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Freed turned around abruptly. Matsuda curiously looked around him, where the man was looking at the stairs with a focused look.

"No." Matsuda said honestly.

"There was definitely something." Freed insisted, a focused look on his face. "Where have I heard it? It's really familiar..." A siren whooped in the distance quietly, and they froze.

Well now, that _was_ a familiar noise.

Matsuda felt his lower body turn to ice as Freed slowly swivelled back to him, a dark look in his eye. Seemed like the priest wasn't in the mood to hear about his porn anymore, which was a shame; Freed had proven himself a man of taste as well. Instead, Matsuda caught the implicit question in Freed's eyes, and frantically shook his head. Freed seemed to believe him, stepping backwards away, but those eyes never left his as he slowly stepped backwards into the closet and slid it shut.

Matsuda stood there in silence for a minute or two, still staring at where those yellow eyes had vanished, until a sudden rattle of the closet door snapped him out of it.

' _Wait, wasn't Kiba hiding there...?_ '

* * *

" _Oh, joyous day!"_

Yuuto Kiba was in a slightly dangerous position.

Grunting, he hissed a little as the lightsword slid down his blade, threatening to lop off his fingers before he twisted the blade off. Freed retreated not a step back before he ducked forward and swung for Kiba's feet. Sliding to the side, Kiba braced his shoulders against the loose closet door and swung downwards at Freed's open neck

Black

The blow was caught by a flash of light as Freed reignited his blade in a sudden backswing, and once again the two men were deadlocked, gritted teeth shining in the wan light cast by the lightblade.

While Freed may have been pleasant to the kids, he had no such qualms with a known devil it seemed. Kiba had been slightly startled when the man had walked backwards into the closet, but not half as much as Freed had been when he'd turned and spotted Kiba crouching near the floor.

Both daggers gleamed in the light, no more than half a foot long each, but where Freed's dagger glowed like the sun and spat like an arc welder, Kiba's was an almost liquid purple, throbbing and seeming to mute the world around it.

"What a nice present!," The ghastly priest giggled, risking losing a hand to trail his off-hand slowly down the flat of Kiba's blade. Kiba punished it by chopping the hilt down, and Freed pulled his left away with a hiss and a light haze of blood. Angered, the priest seemed to redouble his strength, hands shivering from the force he was putting on them.

"The Assassin's Blade." Kiba grunted, straining to keep up with the priest's mad strength.

"Light and sound suppressant, how cute." Freed mocked, wide smile unmarred by the struggle. "No one outside will notice a thing, I'm glad. But there's a tradeoff, isn't there _Yuuto-_ chan?" Kiba swore explosively under his breath, as all of a sudden the pressure on his blade redoubled. "There _allllways is!_ " The priest crooned quietly, starting to saw his little lightsword violently against Kiba's. The acrid tang of heating steel filled the little closet, and Kiba felt sweat run down his nose.

"I see, I see!" Freed sang. "Not as brave? Eh? Little less resistant to light than before isn't it? Mmh?"

Kiba felt his jaw lock, and allowed his grip on the blade to loosen. Freed immediately swung for his neck as soon as the resistance vanished, like he'd been expecting it. Kiba ducked it smoothly, artificial celerity guiding his movement under and around the hissing bolt, and drove the tip of his blade into Freed's rib

Black

Light sputtered back, Freed grinning as the lightsword he now held in a backhand struggled to stave off the Assasin's blade.

" _So it's 'three', is it?_ " He whispered, and Kiba flinched.

It was less than a dance, what followed, neither boy having the room to move in the tiny closet. It was a very mild two-step, back and forth, as Freed fought to capitalize on Kiba's moment of weakness with repeated strikes to his head. Kiba fought him off, wincing as every blow destroyed his vision with sunbursts even his blade couldn't perfectly consume, until Freed finally found an opening.

A foot _slammed_ into his chest, and Kiba choked, arms too high to block as the foot ground into his ribs.

The blow to his gut left him gasping for air, eyes swimming as the boot crushed his lungs in, pinning him to the wall.

"Still shackled to that _God's_ decree, ah?" The pale boy held his head above Kiba's, looking down on him with those sick eyes as Kiba doubled over and gasped for air.

Freed swung down, but Kiba had his opening. The boy wheezed when Kiba dove forward and shoulder checked him, driving the point of his shoulder deeply into Freed's chest and shoving him back. They tumbled into the far wall, gripping and shoving at each other to try and gain dominance.

Kiba paused on top, head held high and back arched to inhale violently, air rushing color back into his limited vision. He looked down to see Freed madly searching the floor

Freed groped around, finally seizing his lightsword with a malevolent chuckle, but dropped it again when his fingers snapped open with shock. Clenching his teeth, Kiba drove a second blow into Freed's face, this time grinning as Freed's fingers went limp and spittle flew everywhere.

* * *

The closet gently rattled again.

Matsuda stared at the door with a dubious look on his face, hand outstretched to push the door open. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, and turned away.

He really didn't need to know.

Instead, he turned away, thinking to walk downstairs and hail the policeman outside, when the window rattled.

He turned slightly, curiously as tiles rattled outside his window.

"Ah?" Came a muffled voice. A grey head of hair poked up the window ledge as Matsuda's disbelieving eyes watched. Slowly, hand over hand, a middle-aged hobo in a trenchcoat climbed up to the portal, pulling the window up and leaning in. "Freed!" The deep voice hissed, a hint of a slur in his tone. "Are you here?" The hobo looked around the room, blocking the sun with his head as he looked around. Then, he caught sight of Matsuda's still form right in front of him.

They both froze, eyeing each other.

"Are you one of the priests too?" The scruffy man asked casually.

"Yes." Matsuda said promptly. "Hail Jesus."

He grunted in satisfaction. "Hail Jesus. Have you seen Freed?"

"Nope."

* * *

"Hello officer." Motohama swung the door open quickly, before the man in badge and uniform could ring his bell. The officer looked at him with dark, unimpressed eyes at the haste.

Motohama swallowed. The badge winking at him from the man's chest seemed to see through his soul. What was he here for? The ghost? Were the police aware of ghosts? Did they know about magic? Was the ghost bait? Was it working for them? Was the government aware of ghosts? Of _devils_? Was he here because of Kiba? Were they monitored, and judged as criminals for consorting with devils?

"There's been a noise complaint." The officer said sternly.

Well then.

"Loud screaming has been heard." The man continued. "What's going on?"

"My name's Matsuda." He said calmly. "And we've been watching scary movies. That's all, officer. I have no life and no job and I hate education, and I'm here to crib off my friends wealth and goodwill.

The officer's eyes hardened to granite. "That's very unfortunate. And the sounds of things shattering? The loud threats of violence that the neighbors reported."

"It was a horror-thriller?" He said weakly.

The policeman looked at him with guarded interest, still veiled in disgust as he looked upon the morbid form of a tax-leecher. "Really? Which one?"

Motohama began sweating.

* * *

Issei ran up the stairs, not even bothering to hide anymore as he dashed up to the bedroom, slamming the door open excitedly and crowing "Matsuda-!"

The door slammed right back into his face, sending him stumbling back.

"Who was that?" The man, self-identified as Dohnaseek asked curiously, turning around from where he stood in front of the bathroom.

"It was my mop." Matsuda insisted. "I was doing tons of sweeping. Gotta erase the evidence, right?"

Dohnaseek cast a dubious eye at the floor, where dust and porcelain lay all over the floor, coating it in a thick mat of particulate matter. "I see." He said slowly.

Matsuda quickly kicked the closet door with his foot, and listened in gratification as several things loudly tumbled around inside.

"It broke." He explained nervously. "I need new stuff. Can you-er-go get some?"

The man stared at him, and he seemed to almost be pulling himself over Matsuda, looking down at him.

" **No.** "

" _Alright._ " Matsuda whispered.

* * *

Motohama and the Policeman stared solemnly at a fallen Issei, who had slowly slid slug-esque down the staircase headfirst.

"He's easily scared." Motohama said seriously. "Just cannot handle his movies."

"I see." The policeman said gravely. He crouched down, taking Issei's trembling hand gently into his own. "Son, it's alright to have weak nerves. It doesn't make you any less of a man."

" _So much disrespect._ " Issei wept quietly.

A shadow crossed the policeman's face, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He gently folded Issei's hand over his chest, and stood slowly. His hand was already on his radio, and he briefly whispered a staccato of words, before he turned to a visibly worried Motohama. "I think." He said slowly. "I'd like to see the room where you were watching movies."

"The living room is this way," he said weakly, pointing down the hall. The policeman refused to budge however, giving him a stern look. He spoke softly. "The noise complaints were for the _second_ floor."

"Oh." Motohama said. "You meant the _other_ home theatre."

The policeman raised a brow. "You have _two?_ "

"Oh yes." Motohama replied, sweat running down the back of his neck. "We alternate. One movie per theatre."

"What wealthy hobbies you have, Matsuda-kun, for someone leeching off others' goodwill." The policeman said mildly, laser stare analyzing his soul. Motohama swallowed, and said nothing as the man slowly turned around, following the wooden walls until he came to the open staircase upwards. He looked back at Motohama briefly, before beginning his ascent.

Motohama gladly kept the man firmly between himself and any potential danger, as he followed nervously behind.

* * *

"Man." Dohnaseek rubbed his hair ruefully. "Where the hell did that guy go?"

Matsuda nodded his head mutely, bouncing the bathroom's doorknob in his hand, where Dohnaseek had simply torn it off in impatience. Picturing the twisted brass handle as his neck, Matsuda carefully kept quiet as the scruffy man paced about the room. The man was somewhat volatile, occasionally snapping his head around and glaring around him as though trying to intimidate clues into revealing themselves. He looked back at Matsuda. "Freed really isn't here? I see traces of him."

"I never saw him. Dunno where he went."

The man cursed under his breath. "I'll need to hunt him down then, and-"

The door swung open gently, and Dohnaseek turned, and met the now tense Policeman's eye.

"Oh hello." Dohnaseek said pleasantly.

The policeman's hand slowly went down to his hip.

"Hello." Matsuda croaked. The policeman's eye darted to him, then began flicking between him and Dohnaseek rapidly, taking in how close they were standing to each other, and how comfortable they seemed in the rubble.

"Hello." The policeman said seriously. "And who might you all be."

Dohnaseek finally seemed to catch on to what was going on, eyes fixed on the badge.

"Ah," he said, somewhat hesitantly. "We're-"

"-The cleaning service." Matsuda abruptly cut in. Dohnaseek folded his arms, relieved. "Yes." He nodded. "We clean. Rooms."

"Rooms." The policeman said mildly. "Like this one."

Everyone once more turned to look at the filthy room, Motohama squeezing in past the policeman to lean against the wall, nervously panting. Matsuda caught his eye, and Motohama shook his head. No one had called him in.

"And why," the policeman continued. "Are you _not_ cleaning then."

"The tools are broken." Dohnaseek blurted, reflexively looking at Matsuda, who took a step back. Why was this on him?! He wasn't the make-shit-up guy! He was bad at this! Motohama usually handled lying to people! Frantically thinking of what to say, he cast a pleading look at Motohama, who rolled his eyes and slammed the closet door open.

Out rolled two figures, limbs entangled and bouncing. They fell apart as they rolled out of the closet, a panting Freed and Kiba coated in dust and filth slowly panting.

Matsuda pointed at them. "We have squatters."

The policeman had a glazed look to his eyes, looking at them all with deep suspicion, but no words seemed to come to his lips as Freed and Kiba continued to pant heavily on the bedroom floor. Instead, he shut his mouth and shot them all disapproving looks.

He was, however, wise enough not to get involved in a land dispute, and so looked away quickly. He turned to Motohama, shoving a sheet of paper into his hands and slowly turned away, stumping down the stairs, and eventually slamming the door on his way out.

"Huh." Matsuda said. "That wasn't so bad." Motohama shot him a filthy look, and shredded the job flyer in his hands to pieces, tossing the paper onto Freed's fallen body.

Dohnaseek swiftly reached down, snagging Freed before they could do worse, stood up and began rapidly backstepping, eyes on Kiba.

"I think it's time we left." He said greasily, coming up on the window. He caught Matsuda's eye, and saluted him. "Clean up after us, eh _newbie_?" He said, but something in his tone sounded mocking as he climbed out the window.

And then they were gone, a loud _crash_ echoing as they landed on the garden supplies Motohama's parents kept under his bedroom window so he wouldn't try to sneak out.

"Say." Motohama said, still staring at the open window. "Didn't one of those guys look kinda like Freed? You remember, that priest guy from last week?"

Issei slammed the door open, stumbling in and groaning. "What happened?!" He demanded, eyes wild. "The police guy tripped on me on the way out! Who the fuck was here? Where'd he go?"

Matsuda groaned. "Just shut up idiot."


	10. Issei Hyoudou is childish

"What do we do now?" Issei asked, dazed. He hadn't the faintest clue, staring at the ceiling as he was. The floor had been swept, the pottery lain aside, doors shut, tables shifted and stains washed away. In the leftover silence, a feeling of grandeur seemed to grow from the home, of noble stoicism from his position. The empty hall lay silent, their breathing the loudest thing to be heard for as long as they allowed it. And there he lay amid the drifting dust, a boy of 15, confused and lost in a world larger than he'd ever expected.

Who could have expected it?! The priest, the devil, the _police_?! It was too much.

The ghost still pissed him off though. He had, by far, gotten the best out. Even Kiba looked somewhat miserable, and he'd done barely anything. That ghost was getting, like, massages or something in the great beyond right now. It was enough to make a man religious.

Motohama and Matsuda groaned, lying on the floor beside him as they had for the past hour, heads spinning and tired from Kiba constantly deflecting their questions. Oh, the questions they had. The pale boy sat uncomfortably formally on Motohama's couch above them, eyes darting left and right in some private unease, yet he had no answers.

Kiba broke the silence first, lips moving emptily for a few seconds before he found his voice. "They will not be returning tonight." Motohama's brows furrowed at this, and Issei similarly felt entirely unconvinced by such a meaningless conjecture. "They know I'm here, and by now they surely know who I am." Kina continued. "The home, forgive me, isn't worth such trouble." The house itself bore witness to this, for as dignified as it may have felt, dust streaming past deep red sunbeams, the place had never looked beautiful. It was a middle-class home for a middle-class family, and not one particularly beloved.

Issei worked himself up onto his elbows, propping his upper body up. His eyes traced the thick sunbeams as they fell onto the wall, and the deep shadows left around them. It was in one of these pools that Kiba pointedly sat, off to the side of the couch. "That's a _great_ question." Issei abruptly sat up all the way, swinging his arms forward so they lay on his lap. "Who the fuck _are_ you Kiba."

Those laser-blue eyes briefly paused on him, before moving on.

"I'm a devil."

Issei sighed. He got up, groaning, brushing dust off his slacks and shaking out his legs. He'd nearly given up on getting anything else.

"That's never been an answer!" Matsuda snorted, slowly stretching his limbs out. He winced, and groaned a little, slapping his palms against the floor as he forced his legs to fold under him. Motohama coughed gently as Matsuda kicked up some dust, turning and ramming his fist into Matsuda's side, who wheezed and rolled over. Falling onto his side and curling up, Matsuda spun on his side with a violent glint to his eyes, turning and limply kicking at Motohama's shins.

Issei turned and kicked at Motohama's shins as well, starting a brief fight that ended when Issei accidentally kicked the bottom of Motohama's foot and sent him sliding into the wall headfirst.

Issei fistpumped, standing over their fallen forms.

Turning away from both boys chewing dust, Issei looked back at Kiba. Kiba snorted. "In which world does that fail to answer the question."

"In the one where 'devil' seems to be as meaningless a descriptor as 'priest'." Issei commented drily, working his shoes back on.

Kiba leaned back, with a contemplative look to his face. "It isn't." The answer was less irritating than how honestly he seemed to be answering. That pissed Issei off, that Kiba could take such a dumb answer so seriously.

"It isn't _what_?!" He growled

"Meaningless." Kiba said. Issei groaned, shaking his head a bit. Of _course_ it was meaningless! "He attacked us! He's a bad person!" What kind of priest went around breaking into people's houses?!

"Irrespective, he was certainly a priest. Didn't you see his holy vestments, Hyoudou-san?"

Issei felt like tearing his hair out. He couldn't win. Slumping, he allowed his arms to swing to his side. The exhaustion he'd been fighting back threatened to sweep him under. Raising a hand to his face, he idly wiped under his nose, pulling his finger away.

Shuddering, he rubbed his fingers together, powdering the dried blood and wiping it off on his pants.

"Fuck it."

Everyone turned to look at him for the outburst.

"Fuck it." Issei decided. "Let's go get some ramen."

Kiba looked at him. "Are you serious?"

"Sure." Issei shrugged, trying not to think about something _else_ waiting for them upstairs. This entire place was cursed. "The house is gonna be sold anyway, right? Who cares. Fuck this place."

"Screw it, he's got a point." Matsuda grunted, and slowly stood, staggering a bit, and offering Motohama a hand. He accepted, and allowed himself to be pulled up, eventually finding his feet before he turned back to Issei. "Why not." Motohama mused. "Never liked this place much." Unsaid went the implication that anything retrieved from the home was super tainted, and there wasn't enough sanctified salt on earth to purify the vhs collection. Issei unconsciously wiped his hand on his pants. Good riddance.

Kiba looked a little startled. "It's your parents home, Motohama-san, are you certain-"

"Dude," Motohama wearily cut him off. "I've had people walk in like they own the place _twice_. Unless you're gonna tell me who they _actually_ were-" Kiba's lips tightened to bloodless lines, but he said nothing, "-then I don't intend to exactly live here."

Issei wiped a tear away. He knew what Motohama was sacrificing. Three years of porn, his console and like twenty video games. Plus, all his progress on the latest Dragon Quest. It was a brave decision.

"But-"

Matsuda clapped Kiba fiercely on the shoulder, shaking his head. Kiba subsided with a troubled look, but didn't seem to know how to confront Motohama.

"We'll figure it out." Motohama said curtly. "That's for me and my family to figure out."

And that was that.

Kiba looked at him for a long moment, a look Motohama met evenly, before the taller blonde looked away and nodded slowly. Together, they turned as one and looked down the hall. The sunlight pouring into the emptied home had decreased already, the turn of day making the atmosphere grow melancholy.

Kiba was the first to turn away, padding down the hall. Issei gave it a few seconds longer before he did the same, slapping Motohama's back as he passed, Matsuda joining him as they walked to the entryway. Kiba slowly opened the door as they approached with a brief look back at them, and they stepped out into the cool evening air. Issei shivered briefly, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders as a breeze blew through, and they stood there in silence until Motohama finally stepped quietly out.

The _click_ of the lock echoed.

Turning, he nodded to them, and they stepped out and swung the metal gate closed behind them.

"Very well, Motohama-san." Kiba spoke up tightly, turning to face them with the evening sun shining in his eyes. "I apologize I could not be more help. I will see you all on-"

"Wait." Issei cut him off, ignoring Kiba's look of irritation at being cut off for a third time. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Away." Kiba said. He'd already half-turned away in the direction of the school.

"Didn't you hear me?" Issei jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "We're getting ramen. Come on."

Kiba blinked a little, his hands drifting down to his pockets.

"I'm not paying." Matsuda broke in firmly. "If you forgot your wallet, Gen-san will let you work off the bill."

"Oh." Kiba said faintly, a little red dusting his cheeks. "Well, lead on then."

And if he was smiling a little, the three boys made no mention of it. They may, however, have laughed at him while he wasn't looking.

* * *

Issei ducked under the curtain, stepping back as the humidity hit and holding the curtain up for the other three. Motohama walked in and grabbed one of the tables by the corner to Gen's puzzlement, the elderly man leaning over the bar counter to peer at his puzzledly. Matsuda walked in after, waving the man's curiosity down casually. Satisfied, Gen instead fixed his eyes on a sheepish Kiba. Something passed between the two, to Issei's sudden interest, as he hadn't been aware that the two had known each other at all. Odd, because Kiba sure hadn't known how to get here. Had they met outside?

Regardless, Gen nodded them in, taking three orders from Issei and patiently waiting for Kiba to finish going through the menu. Nodding himself off, he turned and slid into a seat beside Matsuda, across from a quiet Motohama.

" _What's up with Motohama?_ "

Matsuda shrugged. " _Can't be the house._ "

" _He hates that place._ " Issei agreed. " _The porn?_ "

" _We made digital copies of the old stuff, and the new ones are replaceable._ "

" _The important ones?_ "

" _Fuck 'em._ "

The two instinctively began rubbing their hands on their pants, phantom taint making their hands itch. Fuck Motohama, and fuck his habit of _rubbing the vhs's on himself what the fuck._

" _I forgot we had homework due tomorrow._ " Motohama whispered finally, refusing to meet their eyes. They swapped exasperated looks.

" _Dumbass._ "

" _You're fucked._ "

"What's going on?" Kiba blinked, hesitantly sitting beside Motohama. He relaxed when Motohama slid over a bit, giving Kiba more room and letting him relax a bit.

"This moron forgot about Hana-sensei's english assignment." Matsuda snorted.

"That doesn't seem... _much_ like his fault?" Kiba said carefully. Issei gave him a flat look. "Yeah." He snorted. "'Cause 'I was haunted' is gonna go over as an excuse."

"All I wanted was to get through highschool quickly and surrounded by babes catering to my every whim." Motohama groaned. "That's all. Why does life have to be so difficult."

Issei and Matsuda nodded sympathetically. Kiba looked troubled. "That seems somewhat unlikely."

"Son of a bitch!" Motohama roared, slamming his fist into the table. "I don't want to hear that shit from a goddamn popular-"

"Miso." Gen said drolly, placing the bowl down and deliberately slopping some broth onto Motohama's hand.

Motohama paused. Staring at his skin reddening and burning, Motohama slowly unclenched his fist and turned to Gen. "Gen-san, why."

"You're scaring my customers." Gen informed him politely, murder in his eyes. A bloody cleaver swingin gently on his hip seemed to hum. "The pigs are getting restless too."

"That's disgusting." Matsuda informed him, eyes fixed on the cleaver coated in dry gore. Gen slapped a fly away idly.

"Part of the charm."

Issei leaned across the table and hissed at Kiba. " _I ordered beef, right?_ "

" _I didn't_." Kiba muttered back. Poor bastard.

Gen looked at him blankly, and under that gaze, Issei slowly slid entirely back off the table and down into his seat, sinking lower and lower until Gen was unable to see him at all. Satsified, he turned to bring them more bowls.

The table remained entirely silent as he placed them down, thankfully having the mercy not to vent further displeasure on the rest of them. Motohama was wise enough not to complain about the unfairness. None of them cared.

Eventually, the bowls sat, steaming gently and they stared apprehensively at the cuts of meat floating on top. Issei slowly crawled back up to a human's position, having escaped Gen's cold fury.

"I don't remember Gen-san's pork being quite so fresh before." Motohama said. "Usually, he does all that in the morning."

"Maybe he had a dinner rush."

Issei snapped his chopsticks apart. "Only one way to find out."

"Motherfucker, you didn't even _order_ the pork." Matsuda hissed.

" _You_ insisted on the freshness." Issei cheerfully reminded him, and dug in.

With the briefest of pauses, the rest joined in.

Freshness or no, it was delicious. Salmonella never went down so easy.

The sound of chewing was all they heard for a bit, until Kiba put down his chopsticks and cleared his throat. "I'm interested in something." He said slowly. "Among the students, you three are fairly...unique. What is it you all want?"

Issei blinked, startled.

Kiba slowly turned to look at him, brow raised. "Hyoudou-san?"

Fuck! He'd drawn attention! He'd forgotten never to make eye contact during a serious conversation! He turned, but Motohama and Matsuda quickly looked away. He was on his own. Shit.

Issei wavered a bit. He felt unsure as to what sort of response he should have. "Dunno."

Kiba stared at him. The silence was awkward. Goddamnit Kiba, didn't you know not to get topical before dessert? It was hard to blow off the topic when it sat so heavily on the table. The chewing only made it worse, because Kiba _refused to say anything goddamnit._

Isse slowly swallowed, thinking of an actual answer.

Nothing came to mind.

He scratched his head a little, refusing to meet Kiba's eyes. "No one's ever asked me that before."

Kiba's brow furrowed. "Never...?"

Issei shrugged, somewhat defensive. "I don't think _anyone_ 's really thought that far yet." Like, seriously. Who even thought about that shit before senior year?

Kiba's lips seemed to twitch upwards a moment. "I assure you, that is not the case. I know several people that would disagree strongly, and one in particular would be very angry with such words." Issei distinctly felt like he was being laughed at, in some cosmic, preternatural way, and felt some slight resentment bubble up. It wasn't his fault!

This rude child was asking the impossible of him. Who was he, to read the mood like that? It suited someone like him far more to go with the flow.

"Never considered it. Not once." He twirled the chopsticks in his hands, feeling oddly irritated. "Never even passingly."

"Money." Matsuda grunted.

"Money's about as far as I've gotten." Issei allowed. "Money's good."

Kiba sighed lightly. "That's a pretty mediocre attitude."

Issei paused for a second, and looked, really _looked_ at his ramen. It was an oily brownish-black, broth, ginger and onion floating to the surface, beef poking out every time the broth swirled around his chopsticks. His face floated in the liquid. A chili flake slid down his cheek, and he pushed a fishcake out of his bangs. It was his face, his regular face. That said something. Even with everything he'd learned, had anything really _happened_?

"I'm more suited at laughing at that sort of guy, ah? I suck at being that honest."

"Really?" Kiba chewed a noodle thoughtfully. "You seem very honest to me, Hyoudou-san."

Hyoudou, Hyoudou, _Hyoudou_.

"Call me Ise." Issei said impulsively.

Kiba blinked, somewhat bewildered. "Are you sure?" He seemed rather startled, but to be honest Issei was uncomfortable with that sort of formality to begin with.

Issei hastily waved him off. "You helped us out for free. It's cool, you know? You already call these two by their first names."

Issei watched as Kiba processed that statement, shooting Motohama and Matsuda a dubious look they replied to with identical grins. He turned away, shuddering a little. "You see? You're an honest man, _Ise_ -san." Shrugging, he turned back to his ramen. "If you tried harder, couldn't you do better?"

"I could." Issei admitted. "But I don't want to. I got into Kuoh for reasons that have already been fulfilled! I have no reason to try much harder. I wasn't interested in college to begin with."

"Ah, perhaps you're far too honest at times, Ise-san."

"It's one of my positive qualities, you know."

"I'm sure. It's a shame you can't see further, you know? College is important, Ise-san."

"Can't I?" Issei slurped a noodle slowly, slightly surprised that Kiba was polite enough to wait for him to finish chewing. Embarrassed, he swallowed hurriedly, coughing a little to clear his throat. "I think I see enough." He sniffed a little. "I only have so many years to live free, you know? The Kuoh Academy name is pretty good for getting a low-level salaryman position. I have a couple years left. A few years left to accomplish my dream!"

Kiba looked surprised. "A dream?"

"I'll be a harem king!" He said proudly, loudly enough that people looked at him with some degree of shock. "I'll fight for that!" He tossed his chopsticks aside and lifted a fist firmly into the air!  
A motion he stopped halfway after a gentle cough from the bartable. He slowly lowered his fist, cowering from Gen's stare until he looked away. Clearing his throat delicately, Issei turned back to Kiba.

Kiba had snorted so hard that his Ramen had nearly gone down the wrong pipe. Issei looked at him, slightly perplexed as Kiba breathed deeply, drinking some water to calm himself. "How honest, Ise-san." He said, eyes slightly watery. "But can I ask a question?"

"Sure?" Issei blinked at him.

Kiba smiled uncomfortably, wiping at his mouth. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why a harem? Why pursue a dream like that?"

Issei thought about it. "Because it would make me happy." He said seriously. "I can't think of anything that would make me happier."

"Nothing?" Kiba looked oddly focused, somewhat invested. Issei felt the urge to lean back a bit. "What happened to money?"

"Money is so you can buy things that make you happy." Issei crossed his arms, gently drumming his fingers against his bicep as he tried to word out his point. It existed as a thought in his mind, some kind of understanding he'd implicitly come to with himself, a feeling he couldn't _quite_ word.

"If I had a harem," He said finally, "I don't think I'd need anything else."

"Ise-san, if it's loneliness you fear-"

"It's not abandonment. I've had friends leave often enough that I'm used to enjoying the moment." Issei said honestly, carefully not looking at Motohama and Matsuda. "I just like breasts."

Kiba's eye slightly twitched.

"The more the better."

Kiba sighed lightly.

"Ise-san." Kiba said softly, smiling a little despite himself. "Such simplicity is something...admirable in it's own way. Flawed in others."

"I know, but I have plenty of time to grow up, or whatever." Issei reached forwards, scooping up his chopsticks and twirling them again nervously. "I don't mind living like this for now. I'm happy."

"It doesn't work like that." Kiba said gently. "You don't grow up as you age." He looked into his bowl, in a manner similar to Issei himself. He couldn't help but wonder what Kiba saw in that bowl. He'd never seen a reflection that left someone looking so sad before.

"Age is something you choose. To learn and grow up."

"That's better then." Issei said finally. "Because it means I can be honest to my feelings for as long as I choose to." And that relieved him a bit. He'd chosen to live happily, and he could continue for as long as he felt like it. He couldn't think of a happier way to live.

Kiba chuckled gently, slowly getting louder until he was shaking on his stool.

Issei watched, slightly worried as Kiba rocked back and forth on his seat, shaking with silent laughter. He'd covered his face, long hands hiding his expression, and something about it struck Issei as profoundly strange.

Ah yes, Issei recalled, as Kiba turned a wry half-grin his way, eyes reddened. This was a devil, after all. Oddness was only to be expected.

"You're right." Kiba said serenely, and something about it felt like he'd come to a decision himself. "I can be honest to my feelings so long as I choose to."

Issei eyed him carefully, but the boy seemed to have let something go.

" _Yo, that's creepy as shit._ " Matsuda hissed.

" _More than a little ominous._ " Motohama frowned.

"Maybe so, Motohama-san. But Ise-san?" Kiba said softly. "How honest have you _truly_ been?"

Unbidden, a memory of dark hair flashed past his eyes, a mocking grin teasing him from the corner of his mind. The most attractive person to ever take him seriously. He could picture her now, lively and caustic, and he flushed a little despite himself.

"Oh?" Kiba grinned a little. "Perhaps you spoke too soon, Ise-san."

"I-" Issei flushed. "I didn't-" He felt his heart beat faster, and his tongue tied a little, anger almost flaring at being caught out. "I didn't-, she isn't, Yuuma doesn't-she doesn't see that-" He stuttered, and turned away from Kiba's lively half-smile. "I just-I had something important to-"

"Yuuma?" Issei turned to the side a little, bewildered, as the elderly Ramen chef stopped across from him at the little bar. "Black haired, pretty girl? Tired, like all the time? Smokes like a stack?"

Issei whipped his whole body around, feeeling his heart lurch into his chest. "You know her, Gen-san?!"

The chef leaned back, shooting him a slightly odd look. "Yes." He said simply, a little wary. Issei forced himself back onto his sear, when he realized he'd nearly dove onto the bartable. "She shows up on Thursday nights, between 8 and 10 usually."

"Thanks!" Issei said, jittering in his seat a little. It was Wednesday! He'd barely missed her! Barely!

"You're a nice kid, so don't go doing anything rash." The chef grunted. Issei was briefly stunned. The old man had never expressed a positive emotion in regards to him before! What a dandy old man!

"Thanks gramps!" Issei said cheerfully. "I bet you're popular with elderly women!"

The chef's face darkened to stormy, and Issei quickly realized he'd burned through the old man's goodwill for the day, and it was time to scarper. Turning, he saw Motohama already collecting bowls and Matsuda shooting him a thumbs-up and holding the bills. Kiba slowly rose and stood aside awkwardly.

Nice.


	11. Issei Hyoudou can't read the mood

_What's the over-under on you looking like a huge dweeb?'_

Issei blinked and looked away from his hastily scribbled math homework. Considering what they'd been through yesterday, Motohama sounded pretty cheery when it came to his misery. His _own_ , oh _no,_ doom and gloom, salvage your life. But the prick _refused_ to be equal opportunity about any kind of pity, and really, that was just rude.

But he was a persistent kinda guy, you know? Like a fungus, or tar you scrape off your boots, or muck you wipe clean from the windows. Gross and always finding its way back onto your property.

' _You're never getting laid lmao'_

My, how gross.

The phone was already ringing before he realized he'd furiously hit the button.

For a moment, Issei began questioning the necessity of this thing called socialization, as the phone slowly buzzed in his hand. In the end, if your so-called friends didn't tell you what you wanted or needed to hear, what good were they? Was this entire policy a gimmick by the government to keep him down? Or a trick by some jock to convince him he was missing out on life?

" _You're fucked idiot._ " Was the first thing that came out of the phone. Fucking asshole, jump in a lake.

"Thanks for the support. What good are you? I need it for my documentary about how worthless the friends I had were, and how much potential I lost out on from hanging out with them."

" _Better than that mirror you've been looking at for two hours._ "

"Then no good at all - I tossed the mirror out already."

" _You tossed out the mirror._ "

"It wasn't reflecting right. I'm far more handsome than it claims."

Statickly laughter echoed from the phone, and Issei idly spun on his chair, tucking his legs in so they didn't slam into the table. "Are you gonna help or not?" He demanded testily, switching hands as his right one got tired. It got less workout than the left, so he always made sure to give it extra attention.

" _There's no mirror on earth that's gonna tell it the way you want it, idiot._ "

"God _damnit_ man! I just need help!"

" _For what? You met this girl like once."_

"Twice." Issei stubbornly insisted.

" ** _Once._** _The other time you helped her do a grocery run, that doesn't count idiot. Picking up Katase's eraser isn't flirting either. You met her once, and she wasn't even kinda interested in you."_

"I just wanna talk to her!" Issei wheedled. "She's pretty! And calls me Ise."

_"_ _How'd you pull that off? Blackmail?"_

Issei stopped massaging his fingers. "Motherfucker, all I need is advice! Help me! Talk to me! Support me! Praise me! Beg for my attention!"

" _Give it up, megalomania is unattractive. It's all about that humble life, these days. And lipstick. Buy lipstick. Dude lipstick. Dipstick._ "

"All I have is jam and honey."

" _It all goes on your face eventually, right? You got the colors right, at least._ "

"Where the fuck is Matsuda when I need to deal with this bullshit?"

" _He's still pissed you didn't tell us you knew a hot girl._ " A chuckle buzzed gently. " _Not that I blame him. I'm pissed too, you little bastard._ "

"Wait what?" Issei pulled his phone away and frowned at it. "But you're helping me!"

" _Am I?_ "

Issei hucked the phone at his wall, irritated, sending it sailing as laugher bounced around his room until it hit the floor with a _crack_. He huffily flounced his way out of his room to the parlor, sliding past his mother who slapped his back approvingly on his way through the kitchen.  
"You're becoming responsible Issei!" She called after him. He refused to acknowledge any validation that involved further responsibility, so he pretended she didn't exist and tried diving past while swiping a treat from her cooling baking pan.

The second cookie that clipped his ear probably meant she was onto him though, exploding into crumbs as he cried in shock.

His father briefly looked up from the newspaper as Issei stumbled into the parlor, cradling his ear. "Try harder next time." He advised.

"Piss off." Issei grumbled back, rubbing a finger behind his ear to get some irritating crumbs out. Ew, they were kinda oily. He made a mental note to clean up _extra extra_ well before he headed out tonight, flopping onto the loveseat perpendicular to his father's beloved armchair. Dear sweet _pater_ made sure to creak the damn thing a few extra times to assert his dominance or something, but mostly to remind Issei who's domain he'd entered.

Issei grudgingly offered up his cookie, which his loving father snapped up with a rattle and a flash of his hand.  
The tv remote bounced once across the couch, almost an afterthought, landing beside him and he quickly saluted the elder man with it.

The tv was already on, news coverage buzzing some repeat story that went right over his head.

"Mom!" He cried reedily, eyes slowly gluing to the screen. "We need a new mirror!"

"Issei, stop blaming the mirrors for your bad fringe!"

" _Moooooom!_ "

His father grunted. "They _are_ pretty warped, aren't they." His hand briefly brushed his thinning part, before shooting back to his lap.

Issei pretended not to see. "Totally."

" _The missing finance reports were due to submission at city hall-" "_

"Stop encouraging him, dear!"

Dad grumbled fitfully, but fell silent.

"And Issei - didn't you say you were going out tonight with your friends!"

"Totally, yeah."

"What?!"

_"_ _Yamada, what can you tell us about the situatio-"_

Issei hurriedly raised the remote.

* * *

_click_

" _-thank you Hikari, the finance report was from our own local governor! He maintained his stance of hope for the future of his campaign, however seemingly failed to produce any eviden-"_

Issei slid the door open further, evening chill weighing his shoulders down, and he shuddered briefly as he entered the warm ramen joint. His hair felt moist, and he realized he hadn't dried it all the way through. What if it curled, what if it blew in weird directions, woul-

"Hyoudou."

Issei's eyes snapped up, meeting the stony glare of the ill-tempered owner of the establishment. Gen looked supremely unimpressed.

"Hyoudou, I told you she showed around six."

"Yeah?"

"It's three-fifteen."

Issei fidgeted, jacket tight around his shoulders. "W-what if she's early?"

Gen sighed.

_03:40:08_

"- _we've been informed that Kuoh's very own mayor refused to comment on the nature of the allegations again, holding his ground-"_

Issei spun on his chair, twirling around the loose barstool. Gen's knife was already twitching in his direction.

* * *

_04:15:49_

_"_ _-dropping percentage points reveal how restless the public has gotten! Yes, we have another call, this one from-"_

* * *

_5:00:00_

_"_ _-an uneasy silence from the governor's secretary, who has chosen to deflect any questions regarding-"_

* * *

_6:13:37_

A slim hand slid across the countertop, black nails gently rapping across the countertop. Issei blinked the tiredness out of his eyes, but his body already rose to meet hers. She slid past him, still in a half-jacket and skirt, still just as distant as before, though he was right beside her this time.

"Sorry I'm late Gen." An odd expression twisted on her lips. "But I didn't know I'd be having another meeting."

Issei flushed, and all the bravado drained out of him like a faucet. Owning up to magic hadn't made looking this girl in the eye any easier. That would take its own brand of sorcery altogether.

He slowly slid back down into his seat. "It's not my fault." Issei grumbled instead, casting his eyes at his cold bowl of ramen broth.

"He's been here for 3 hours." Came the slow rebuttal. Yuuma's dark eyes danced back to him, and he felt himself sweat a little from the slight amusement in them.

"It's _mostly_ not my fault." He clarified.

"Only mostly?" She slid onto the barstool, rapping her knuckles on the bartable. Gen grunted his understanding, a brief mutter of _the usual then_ before he stumped back behind his shop. The place lay awkwardly quiet, no amount of conversation around them enough to puncture the slight bubble of stillness.

"Hello Ise."

"H-hello Amano-san."

"What brings you here?"

As though she didn't know. The slight play about her lips was obvious to everyone that looked.

"No-"

"Answer properly."

Issei blinked and looked at her. She wasn't looking at him, but he felt the weight of her attention anyway.

"A man's saving grace is his straightforwardness." Her long fingers traced the grain of the table. "I dislike boys that can't do that."

Well now, Issei had to think seriously about the answer. He didn't want her to hate him, after all. But it was tough to tell what to say. He wasn't even sure why he was here himself.

"I felt sad." Issei blurted out. It was the closest thing he could think of. He wasn't really sure _why_ he'd admitted it, but only the thought of living up to his words to Kiba kept him going. Issei Hyoudou was a sincere man, after all.

Yuuma leaned back a bit.

"Sad?" She echoed puzzledly. Her dark eyes sharpened a bit, rolling to the corners and staring at him. "What for?"

"Dunno." Issei dipped a finger into a small droplet of condensation, whirling it around in circles to avoid looking at her. But the glare in the center of the circle he made certainly _felt_ like a judging look. His finger twitched and he broke the circle.

Hold on Issei, you're onto something here. That copy of American _Cosmo_ you stole from your mother said chicks loved this shit. Manpain was like an aphrodisiac. You can still spin this into something other than you crying into the arms of a girl you like. God help him, anything but that. Something so impossible as that wasn't something someone like him should do. Instead, he was far more suited to being honest to himself. And no amount of sadness could overcome his libido for sure.

He sure didn't know what was going on with his head, but any time was a good time to try to get laid! Yeah!

Issei bit his lip violently, tearing up from the pain, and turned to face her. "I was hoping you could help?"

He heard a long sigh.

"You bullied?"

Issei jerked his head up violently, looking at her. "What? No!"

Her cheek slid onto her fist, and she lounged in her chair. She shot him a bored look.

"Lonely?"

"Always but no."

"Depressed?"

"God no!"

"Then _what_?"

Issei shuffled a bit on the chair and looked away, unable to look her in the eye.

 _READ THE MOOD_ he telepathically willed at her. Do the impossible! Please for gods sake, give him _something!_

How was he supposed to have a conversation with this kind of atmosphere?! She wanted him to be honest but that was becoming impossible! She was supposed to blush! And stutter! And pity hi- okay, maybe not that, but she was definitely supposed to empathize with him! And look away so he could sit closer and loom over her! And then he could confess his undying lust for her bosom!

He snuck a glance over, and realized they were nearly the same height. Maybe if he stood on the chair?

Nah.

"My life is a goddamn mess." Issei honestly said. "So it really could be any number of things. But it shouldn't be any of them really, because I'm fine with it the way it is."

She finally smiled a bit honestly. "Then what's the most immediate thing?"

Issei sighed a bit. "I think I'm being roped into a cult." He confessed.

Yes, Issei was convinced that Kiba was secretly part of a super sketchy death cult probably maybe. Ghosts and magic were a thing apparently, maybe all those demon cults were onto something after all. It made too much sense; he was popular, handsome, smart, popular, intelligent, nice, and popular with girls. It was bullshit. Demons were probably involved, which also would explain how his hair remained unruffled in the wind.

Besides, his less than detailed description of his "master" left a lot to the imagination. Issei had a few concerns about that. Especially the fact that they were called master and called the shots. Tits weren't even involved in the process, which made everything about it like 200% even sketchier.

"That's life." Yuuma lazily replied. "Those cults get around. Try and avoid donating too much. And the subway."

Issei slumped in his seat. He hadn't been expecting help or anything, but would some sympathy hurt? Issei swirled his own bowl a bit, sipping at his cooled ramen broth. "You seem unconcerned." He accused.

Her other hand went over her head, and she waved it around. "Don't be so childish. We all have problems."

He was tempted to ask what, but the awkwardness of asking her something so personal held his tongue. She shot him an amused look, like she could tell what was on his mind.

"I'm here to meet someone, actually." She said, after a short pause. "I finally managed to rearrange a meeting, after my plans were..." her lips thinned slightly, eyes growing distant. "...forced to change."

"Sounds tough." Issei said mildly.

Her lips quirked upwards and Issei felt himself blush. He'd actually traded pithy remarks with her! Fuck, he was so cool! He felt super good about that one!

He felt her shoot him a somewhat complex look, but that was no problem because Issei was confident it was all positive.

" _You never change, Ise-kun._ "

"Hm?" Issei's head shot up. "You say something?"

Yuuma didn't meet his eyes, instead pointing forwards. "Ramen's here."

"Ramen's here." Gen grunted agreeably, gently placing the bowl in front of her. She snapped her chopsticks and began swirling the mass, letting the steam wash over her.

Issei felt his words catch on his tongue. It was different, this time.

How odd.

Sound rushed back to him.

Issei leaned down to camoflauge his open staring with some ramen, but caught sight of a blur wandering by.

It appeared to be a small blonde girl, dressed like a nun and spinning in confused little circles as she stumbled past the ramen shop to some heretofore unknown destination.

She caught his eye however, and he offered her a polite smile and an open stare of her decidedly authentic cosplay that suited her very well.

She continued past while Issei watched.

He went back to drinking his broth, tempted to ask Gen to heat it up. But no, Gen would probably punch him if he tried. What a violent chef, how did such a man get business at all.

The little nun wandered by the window again while Issei was lost in thought, and this time he noticed the crowd avoiding her pleading looks.

She didn't seem to speak Japanese, then.

She caught Issei's eye again, and this time he offered her a motivational thumbs up.

He kept watching as she bumbled past the window again.

Yuuma slurped a little. "As good as ever, Gen." She said gruffly. The old man grunted happily. Goddamn pervert, he didn't see that old man reacting to _his_ praise like that!

The little nun tripped past again, the sight of her hapless distress warming Issei's heart.

Issei blandly waved. "All kinds in this city I guess." At least the view was nice.

He nearly fell off his chair as a tall hurricane dashed past him, black hair whipping in her wake as Yuuma slammed the door open, tearing out of the little ramen shop.

Her chopsticks quietly clattered onto the tabletop behind him.

The small crowd outside parted like waves before the somewhat irritated young woman, and she was quickly marching back with the downcast young lady in tow.

Issei had zero problems, because lo and behold! They were both very pretty up close! Heaven was smiling down on him!

The shy young lady blushed, continuing to murmur something in a foreign tongue. Issei felt his smile appear unbidden. It was fine because she was cute! If a filthy gaijin was cute, they were socially acceptable, everyone knew that. Mother, Issei's going international!

Yuuma shot him a somewhat complex look, tucking her hair back a bit. "She wanted to thank you - Asia here caught your look. I suppose I should as well."

"Asia, huh? It's nice to meet you!"

" _H-hello? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't understand Japanese..."_ She blushed and twiddled her fingers, but that was alright because Issei had no idea what she was saying.

Issei slid off his chair as Yuuma tossed some bills on the counter.

"For both of us." She said shortly. Gen secretly caught his eye, and Issei mouthed _put it on my tab_. The old man snorted and shrugged, but no more was said as Issei followed the two girls out of the store and onto the street.

Yuuma cut a brisk pace, pulling the blonde girl behind her, and Issei was briefly struck by the fact that he hadn't actually been invited to join them.

Would they have told him if they didn't want him to?

He was pulled along, the second time in two days, dragged by a push beyond his own will.

The night grew busy around them. It wasn't quite like the busier districts of tokyo; Kuoh was an old town, and even the flashes of neon were few and far between in the shopping district. Thus, the crowds remained sparse, and Yuuma had no compunctions against bulling her way through. Issei followed close behind, and found himself unconsciously steadying the little nun as she stumbled along.

Eventually, they pushed past, and Yuuma slowed her steps as the buildings gave way to quiet homes gently lit from within, every street crossed further divorced from the crowds behind them.

Steps slowing, Yuuma slowed, and eventually stopped. She didn't however turn, and in the wan streetlight her shoulders seemed lighter than he remembered.

"Hey Yuuma-san." Issei said.

She turned to him again, gorgeous even beside the cute nun, but he already had the words he wanted to say.

"Yuuma-san, I can't read the mood, and I'm no good at being polite." Issei scratched the back of his head. "So all I can do is be honest. Why are we moving towards the old church?"

Her lips moved but no sound came out. He found that he couldn't quite make out her eyes anymore.

"Why wouldn't we, Ise?"

He felt a deep undercurrent, but he simply didn't know what to make of it.

Ah, he was no good at this.

"I heard there were some odd things happening there."

"Yeah." Yuuma replied indifferently. "I heard something like that too."

Issei worked his jaw, but couldn't quite find the words to respond to that. She hadn't _said_ she was staying there...but there weren't many homes along this path. Hardly any at all.

" _What's the issue Miss Raynare?_ " Asia murmured, eyes darting with a budding anxiousness between the two.

" _Don't worry your pretty little head._ " Yuuma muttered. " _You have other, far larger concerns I'm afraid._ "

The nun's hands clenched. " _W-what's going on?_ " Issei raised his head, and held the nun's look blankly. He had no idea what to make of it. Cute though. Shame she seemed so sad.

" _I-I came to-_ "

" _We've been cut off. We have few options currently, and you_ ** _will_** _obey me. Now hush._ "

Her sharp gasp finally motivated Issei enough to speak up. "W-what's wrong?" He sent the nun a searching look, but the small girl seemed to be preoccupied by Yuuma's words. He'd never resented letting his English lapse before, but he was so rusty he could barely make out one word in every ten.

"She's staying with my family for a little while." Yuuma replied smoothly. "And I needed to inform her of why."

"I...I see."

The church loomed high overhead, deceptively shadowed. Issei felt his nerves prickle, and he took a hesitant step back.

"Would you like to come in, Ise?" A smile remained on her face, but for the first time, Issei realized how fathomless those dark eyes were. "How about it?"

This wasn't the girl struggling with bags. It wasn't the girl smoking by the taxi stand either, or the more mature woman trading barbs with an elderly shop owner.

But did he trust her?


	12. Issei Hyoudou is headstrong

_I'm sorry._ " The pretty girl beside him muttered morosely.

Now, Issei may not speak English for shit, but he _could_ recognize a 'sorry'.

"That's alright." Issei assured. "I wanted to do this."

She didn't seem particularly convinced as they walked up the hill to the darkened church, but then she couldn't understand him either, so they might as well be grunting comfortingly at each other.

Actually, that would be preferable. Worth a shot later, maybe. Not right now. Now, he had a bigger priority, one that swayed as she walked, smirked as she talked, and waved him in as he crossed the threshold into the holy grounds proper.

The church was dark when he approached it, only the faintest flickers of light in it's deep windows revealing that it was inhabited at all. He somewhat regretted laughing at Matsuda, because this place was almost certainly haunted. The reliefs were elaborate, curling around massive circular windows set above the entrance that Issei would bet good money caught the sun really nicely in the morning. They danced people, animals, and worse around the building framing the rows of windows going down the building before curling back and framing the massive wooden door that squatted in the entrance before him.

The cute nun kindly held the door open for him, having slid behind him to palm the wooden door that Yuuma cracked open gently behind her. It looked heavy, thick and oaken and plain in a way that spoke of confidence, but she didn't strain at all. Issei was impressed. And slightly attracted. If only she could speak to him, so he could hear about how cool she thought he was.

"Issei."

His attention danced back to the highlight of his evening, long hair fluttering around her. It was striking, even picturesque, the backdrop of faded gold-threaded wallpaper lending the entire area a faintly warm glow. She stood in the middle of the elegant room on her delicate heels, stretching out her arms and sending clouds of ethereal dust swirling around her. On the street it hadn't felt so bad, but here, where faded elegance formed a patina on the walls, he felt positively drab. Her outfit even matched, he noticed idly. Thin veins of gold traced her sleeves and leggings, invisible in anything but the wan moonlight.

Pricy, this girl was pricy.

"Welcome."

Issei reddened a bit, and he looked away reflexively.

The church was an old one for sure, at second glance, which meant that most of the carvings were probably hand-made. Marks of dust lay mussed on the floor, where large furniture had once stood. There were empty spaces where paintings once hung, stained paint hung above the imprints of chairs large enough to fit three people side-by-side. Notably, a little lamp sat in the middle of the largest circle of dust, that Yuuma smoothly moved to and flicked on.

The room lit up, shadowy relief cast upon broken statues shoved unceremoniously in a corner. It was ghoulish, how out of place the careless disarray was, compared to the elegance of the walls. Cobwebs and powdered stone fought for dominance between the effigies. Issei chanced a peek upwards, only to be disappointed by the bare bulb swinging freely by it's moorings. Not even a broken chandelier.

"The renovations look rough." He observed sourly. "They say God's in every church, but you're leaving him out in the cold. He'll cry you know, with a reception like this."

"He'll survive." She replied drolly, stepping past him to the door on the far side of the entrance room. Yuuma paused there, thoughtfully.

"Hey Issei," She said. "Didn't you mention that you'd love to see my home sometime?"

Issei blinked, startled. "Did I? I did. Definitely. Even if I don't recall, I definitely did. I may have shouted it in my heart, even. All the time."

"You don't recall expressing it?" She murmured. "Silly me. My memory must be going." Instead of giving him a second to question that, she thrust the doors open and strode through.

Issei paused at the door, Asia trundling behind him and peeking under his arm. It was a rectangular room, inside, windows high above with thick bars of moonshine pouring through every 10 feet or so. Superficially similar to pictures of churches he'd seen before, pew after pew filled the room, candles on holders repeating as often as the windows they stood parallel to.

Every seat was full. Hooded men bowed in supplication all the way down, head after head hunched and mouthing words that echoed around the cavernous room, a rumbling drone that gently shook the stone dust off the statues, flowing down each row to a vast stone figure at the top. It was a familiar man with arms outspread and a kind smile. His hair was carved with painstaking detail, a mullet from which gold shone at the curved tips. The lips were painted and the eyes shut. The clothes were covered with real cloth, but his feet were bare, and worn almost entirely away. However, from each painted hand, hung men tied like hams, limply spinning gently in place.

Beneath this sat a plain podium, at which stood a pale-faced figure in vast robes.

"-but hear me Brothers." Intoned Father Freed Sellzen, a hazy memory of a sallow grimace briefly overlaying itself over his broad grin, before it vanished. "I maintain that icing these motherfuckers is both expeditious and efficient, but waiting for a while and kicking them while they're down is totally more fun. All in favor say aye."

**_AYE_ **

"It's so nice to work a crowd." He sighed happily, the noise carrying like a hot knife through the haze of sound. "A flock is only as tame as it's tender, and I am a _very_ firm hand with a crook." His arms spread open in parody, and swept the room.

"Isn't that so, Mr. Hyoudou."

Issei's mouth, already drier than sandpaper, convulsed.

Freed grinned. "I have that effect on people."

"...hello?" So maybe Kiba had been right. The priest had been sketchy. In his own defense, how many secret death cults could a man be reasonably expected to believe existed in his hometown?! "How do you do, Father?"

"Pretty fuckin' nice, lemme tell you. I'm glad you took me up on my offer." He chortled, speaking as though Issei stood directly before him than over a hundred meters away. "The flock will always welcome another. Maybe slightly more hardcore an introduction than originally intended, but we would've gotten here eventually. Never enough bodies in this godless hellhole of a land."

"Shut your mouth, Freed."

And a slight figure continued walking as though uninterrupted, black hair whipping behind her as she crossed pew after pew. The ceiling above her was shaped like a bell, faded carvings running up it's length and arching down into fourteen pillars that staked into the floor. Each and every one reflected off the polished wooden floors, shining like an oak mirror, so deep you could fall into it. She danced atop this, heels _clacking_ and arms swinging confidently, and god help him the entire seriousness of the situation wasn't half as important as watching her move so cooly past that congregation. Already she'd walked halfway down unstopped.

"Get off my goddamn podium."

Freed placed his hand to his chest, and leaned away. "Well, I never!" He raised one hand, and brought it to his lips. His other hand went out, and waggled a finger. "Rude! Unwelcomed! Incompetent! That's three strikes, you know? Even a bad ref would kick out a player at this point! Even a saint would call a bad play!"

"And leave you to fuck around?" She whipped her hair back, and snorted loudly.

Issei winced.

"Not a chance."

At this, the bold priest chose to abandon all sense of propriety, and placed one foot on the podium itself. "I've been doing a damn good job, if I say so myself." He grunted a bit, hopping a bit in place, then managed to get his other foot up. "I dare anyone to say otherwise!" He wheezed a bit, straining to pull himself up, as both his arms and legs on the podium strained to lift his torso above the wood from where it hung precariously, threatening to tip him backwards.

It took him a few seconds, slowly inching upwards, until with an almost sudden jerk he pulled himself up, almost overbalancing in the process. He wobbled back and forth a bit, slowly straightening his legs until he stood proudly on the little railing. He raised his arms high over his head, twining them together, long spidery fingers crooked and curling around the halo cast by the lamp above him. "I welcome you all to stand and speak! Speak your vows, your beliefs, and most importantly your unquestioning and unwavering devotion to my cause!" Both arms came down in a violent chopping motion. "Traitors will be executed immediately, so I'm confident anyone looking will find nothing other than the utmost support from everyone involved!"

**_AYE_ **

"Mood." Freed slowly slouched, pulling his hands through his hair and slicking it back. "So I assure you _Raynare_ , you bitch, that I am too goddamn cool to just put aside."

She paused, hips cocked and fist planted on it. "Then I'll put you down, like the godless mutt you are." Her eyes narrowed and met Freed's, who looked delighted.

Hips lips curled. "I know you are, but what am I?"

Raynare growled violently in anger, startling the people around her, and snapping Issei out of his fugue. He was still in the open! What a mistake!

Stepping in quickly, Issei immediately sidled to the side, slowly moving closer and closer to a pew with some seating space that he could hopefully duck into. Shit was scary.

No one made anything of it, though Asia did turn to him with an odd expression. He could only assume she was judging how well he integrated with these strange foreigners, and their deeply disturbed ideology.

Well, Issei would have her know that he'd never stood up for himself or another human being even once in his life! He sat firmly on that chair, and pretended he was brain-dead.

He even managed to keep it going for a couple minutes.

His lolling eyes eventually caught his neighbor shooting him an odd look, but their eyes were blue so they were probably american or something and so couldn't express an opinion that affected his societal standing negatively. He was, however, very large, and his fingers were definitely of crushing size, so politeness nearly forced itself into his spine, straightening it.

" _Welcome._ " The man whispered in probably english or some other equally inscrutable european tongue. " _Might you be a godless pagan of some sort?_ " He actually understood a word or two of that! It was English, thank god.

" _Hello fuck chillax shizzle._ " Issei offered politely in response. The man's eyes warmed immediately, so Issei knew that he'd successfullycommunicated. Maybe he could ask Hana-sensei for extra credit at this rate. He offered his hand, and Issei took it in a warm handshake.

" _I see you're not the target of tonight's execution._ " The man spouted, chuckling a little, and Issei nodded enthusiastically. Anything to keep the large bearded man happy.

Asia was shooting him increasingly dubious looks, so he responded with a smug one. See, he _could_ adapt. This was easy. There was no way Asia had negative thoughts about him. She totally thought he was super cool.

"Frankly." Freed continued after a pause, silencing the small conversations springing up immediately. "I'm not sure it's _my_ leadership we should be challenging here, if you catch my draft."

The second he started speaking, every eye in the hall turned back to him, a hundred unwavering eyes. Issei, cowed, followed suit, eyeing the deranged priest. Even the two men hanging from the statue were looking at him with something like anxiety in their expressions.

Raynare was unmoved. "Where are Mittelt and Dohnaseek."

"Who knows?" Freed replied smoothly. "Not much keeping them here any longer, now is there?"

Yuuma's fists clenched, and loosened. "They didn't leave."

"We're not all as needy as you." He shot back nastily. "They have no stake in this race."

Her eyes narrowed. "They have enough stock in it to not leave their investment untended."

"Shame then, isn't it." He grinned. "Maybe we're a bit tired of doing laps ourselves, you know?"

"And what." She said slowly, ice crackling into her voice. "Are _you_ going to do about that."

And then every man in the hall stood as one. The assembly rang in the hall as wood screamed, shoved away in careless abandon as people rose and reached into their long white coats. Issei began quietly hyperventilating as his polite and nice neighbor stood to his towering feet, casting his whole body in shadow with tree-like shoulders, and drew a fucking revolver from his waistband. Issei immediately turned away and got small so he didn't display weakness or seem too edible. That was supposed to work on gorillas right?

Not well enough, because his neighbor turned to him, and stared at him meaningfully.

Issei froze.

_Think think think Issei what does the crazy man want?_

_He wants me to ape him._

Issei slowly put his hand inside his jacket, and the man looked a bit happier. If he pulled it back a bit, however, the man's expression immediately froze. In again and it thawed with something like anticipation. Out a bit, frozen fury.

Issei shivered. There was nothing for it.

He slowly reached deep into his jacket, and made exaggerated clawing motions, slowly pulling his hand out...in a finger gun.

He stared at his fingers. This and a smile was all that stood between him and a nickel-plated barrel. He slowly raised his hand, finger gun clearly displayed, and looked at the priest.

He looked at Issei expectantly.

He wasn't about to shoot. That was a start. Now what?

The foreigners eyes darted to the side.

Ah.

Issei slowly raised his finger gun, placed the 'butt' in the palm of his other hand, and pointed his index at Yuuma.

The man slowly drew back the hammer of his gun-gun with a meaty shifting of metal, the barrel revolving.

Issei waggled his thumb a bit and made clicking noises out of the side of his mouth not facing the gunman.

Asia seemed distressed.

He looked at Yuuma, and saw that she was staring right at him with a deeply unimpressed expression.

He shrugged. _What was I supposed to do?_

She rolled her eyes and turned back to Freed.

"Enough." She said firmly. "I'm done with you fucking around." Her long fingers stretched out, and began popping by one as she clenched them into a tight fist. "Move or be moved."

"And risk harming our guests?" He gasped sharply. "I'd never." He spread his arms out white, covering them with his outstretched arms. "I'll have you know I am a proponent for _all_ human lives."

"Funny from someone that barely qualifies himself."

Freed's smile faltered, wobbling uncertainly. For a moment his eyes widened, an almost childish note of disbelief to it.

Then it redoubled, returning in a great rush of schadenfreude to fill out his face. There was something gutteral in how he snarled words, whispers to commands to yells to incoherent screaming at the top of his lungs, standing before the crowd, to kill, to maim, to-

" **Silence, please.** "

The slight figure stumbled out the back, tripping over her own feet.

Freed paused, mouth agape and finger pointed accusingly at Yuuma.

"What the heck." Said the, now _shortest_ blonde in the room, huffing and placing her hands on her hips, skirt gently ruffling. "I thought this was an _undercover_ op, you know? Private? Slick? Suits and leather and cigarettes?"

"It still is." Freed rasped solemnly.

"Shut up." Yuuma snapped, taking great loping strides forward to tower over the little blue girl. "What're you still doing here? You left a week ago"

"My orders from Lord Azazel told me to stay here." Her voice took on a distinctly whining cadence. "I'm basically stuck here. It's boring, so I wandered off, but I lost all my money. Now Mr. Sellzen keeps killing people and leaving the bodies in my room."

"He's a freak."

"It's a sign of my deep affection."

"Ignore him."

"They're fat and smell like Devilllllll!" She spun in place, and began walking away. "Just like Mr. Sellzen kinda. Less bloody though, somehow."

"It's that time of month again." He fluttered his eyes. "Can't be helped, you know."

Yuuma rolled her eyes, and walked behind the girl, who crooked her finger and gestured upstairs. "Come along please, Sir Vali keeps reminding me to find out more, so I need a better idea of what your job is..."

Freed stood limply, hands still extended in grand accusation, as the two girls promptly walked away from the hall with a deep urgency, ignoring all the people in it. Including Issei, hands _also_ extended in grand accusation, though decidedly less heartfelt.

Asia shuffled a bit in place, awkwardly. However, even the slight scuff of her feet on hardwood broke the silence.

He felt the first pangs of apprehension as Freed slowly turned back to the crowd, rictus smile in place, and instead brought his hands together and began slowly clapping.

"Alright!" Said Freed happily. "Now that all that unpleasantness is over with, all of you line up in front of me for the baptism! If you smell too much like devilshite, I'll plug you instead. Chop chop!"

_"I'm a devil." Kiba said simply._

_"I'm a devil." Kiba said simply._

_""I'm a devil." Kiba said simply._

Issei felt his pants grow heavy with sudden fear.


	13. Asia Argento is lonely

With a great groan of shifting wood, the horde of exceedingly well-dressed cultists began shuffling politely down the rows of pews. The man behind Issei kindly aided him in shifting when his feet felt glued to the floor. What a nice old man. Issei conveyed his thanks through abstract curses at him, his penis, his family, his friends, and his entire lineage as he was less-than gently buffeted down the rows.

Freed awaited at the top of the room, arms outstretched and head thrown back as people began lining up before him. Issei lost sight of him after that, just the _splash_ of water and a droning hum in a foreign tongue.

And then he was lost behind bodies, and Issei was stuck between some _very_ old men enthusiastically greeting each other.

" _Duvall! You salty bastard, how've you been!"_

Issei's neighbor chuckled ominously, vaguely threatening. " _It's good to see you again. I've been busy starting up that damn boutique for my little girl André, you know? She wants her little princess all decked out."_

The old man in front of Issei chortled, twining his hands into his raggedy beard and tugging it in a vaguely menacing way. " _I know the feeling, my little boy's all grown up, you know! Asked me for a co-payment on his mortage!"_ The raggedy man looked deeply proud.

The gentle clap sounded like gunshots in Issei's ear. " _Speaking of which, how's your son?"_ The more cleanly shaved man behind Issei asked.

The scruffy man shrugged carelessly. " _Eh."_

The old men chuckled and huffed deep in their throats, and Issei shivered a bit. His movement caught their eyes however, pale blue darting down to look at him.

" _Who's this one?_ " The scruffy one asked. " _Guest o' yours?"_

The clean one clapped Issei's shoulder roughly, buckling his knees. Issei struggled to keep still, widening his mouth into a smile as he began frantically looking for an escape. " _New boy. Good soul, if a bit soft up top."_

 _"_ _God accepts all kinds._ " Scruffy said soberly, reaching over and patting Issei's whole shoulder simultaneously with his meaty hands. He looked Issei in the eyes, speaking slowly in japanese. "You are...fresh here?" His accent was atrocious, but Issei was somewhat touched by the mediocre effort. "You wait a long time for...Saving?"

"Ah, no." Issei blushed. "I just arrived." Ah! He'd always wanted to say that!

Not like this though.

The old men around him began to chuckle welcomingly.

Not like this at all. Issei assumed they were saying something, but he couldn't make it out through his tears of stupidity. He couldn't be here. He didn't _want_ to be here, with these crazy old people.

He had to talk to her. Yuuma. She'd know. She could explain.

"Have you seen a girl?" He pressed. "A black-haired girl. Tall. Big tits. Pretty. Smiles a lot."

" _What's he asking?"_

Scruffy scratched his chin. " _I think he's asking about Raynare. She mentioned guests. But he keeps saying she smiles a lot?"_

The old man shrugged behind Issei, hand briefly pushing down even harder. _"_ _Maybe she gives a shit about them?"_

 _"_ _God willing."_ Scruffy cleared his throat. "She...Raynare? She is here. Sky-high."

"Upstairs." Issei corrected automatically. He shot Scruffy a mental thumbs up. Not bad for a dandy old man, soon he too could converse with grandson with the hip lingo. Fighto, old man!

Issei wasn't gonna be here for that though.

This Issei needed-

A _bang_ echoed, a wet _splat_ as something fell over. The crowd grew silent even as others grew louder.

"I'm telling you, I smelled devil on him. He was a devil, probably. Totally-"  
"-he was with me all week! You can't-"  
"-can't take any chances. He was full of sin, trust me-"

_-needed to not be here._

Issei crouched a bit, going low even as everyone else went high to spot what was going on. Idiots! If everyone all went on tiptoes, then no one could see! It bought Issei time to move though and he took it gratefully, sliding out of line and behind the massive statue. The men above did not notice however, transfixed on the proceedings with something in their eyes Issei couldn't make out. Even their idle spinning seemed to slow as they stared down at the crowd.

The crowd was silent, watching as Freed offered an apologetic high five.

A high five withdrawn as soon as the priest after him went for it, leaving the poor man standing with his arm up.

Freed spat to the side. "You fucking idiot. You slackjawed moron. Garbage. Die and redeem your entire bloodline from the shame of being that fucking beta."

One man hesitantly reached over to pat the poor churchman on the shoulder, but hastily withdrew his hand afterwards, as though fearing some contagion.

Issei giggled madly, and slid further back.

The view of the church was wider here, the farther he went into the shadows far behind. It was smaller than he'd expected, a thin ledge running behind the statue, with recessed walls to either side, leading to the back room he'd followed R- _Yuuma_ with his eyes into.

The crowd was getting louder, jeering and catcalling, a deep rush sweeping over them, a giddy, thoughtless sort of energy. It was fast, almost practiced how easily they slipped into the baying. Issei shrunk into the wall, feeling it firmly against his back, supporting him as he slowly slid closer to the ground. It was dusty, back here. Cobwebs and mothballs danced past him as his breath stirred up at least a few weeks worth of neglect. Issei began breathing very shallowly, trying desperately to not breathe it in, mind idly questioning if it was possible to catch some gross disease this way. It was wasn't it? Bacteria and mold or something. Gross! Gross! Gross! How disgusting! He couldn't stand it, crawling quickly to the side, but his limbs were lead, trailing behind and weighing him down.

He felt something sticky enter his mouth, and he nearly shrieked, barely shoving a (filthy!) hand into his mouth and biting down to silence his nerves. His teeth were rattling, chattering, and the pain gnawing at his hand made him withdraw it sharply. He eyed his hand. It was a little bloody.

For a brief, mad moment, he allowed the atmosphere to sway him. The chanting was louder, the cries and adulation echoing, ringing through his head. He wanted to be clean, to simply reach down, and reach into the wound. Shove a finger in, twist, open it more and more, like a mouth, a great gaping maw large enough to swallow him whole, pull the jaws apart, tear the hand off wholly, the ecstacy of freedom from his fleshy prison gripping him and swaying his mind-

He took the last step and collapsed into the back room, barely out of sight of the crowd and dragging himself around the corner. He was sweating, the back of his neck sticky, sweat running down his hair, sticking it into gross spikes that left his scalp visible. The madcap urges left him, drained out with his tension, leaving him shaking. His hands were shaking, he was breathing too deeply.

Keep it together Issei.

He sucked a deep breath in, and raised his head, taking in the small room. It was undecorated,beige in contrast with the elegance of the previous rooms. Even worn and decayed, they held a haunting beauty. The rot melded with the fittings and carvings in a way that harmonized. Incontrast, this room was...barren. Plain. Clay-like walls, a simple color lit up by a single smooth ceiling fixture. A single table sat in the middle, with a vase sitting on it, right in front of a lovely dark wood staircase that wound its way upwards.

He stood slowly, slumped against the wall, energy slowly buoying him as fear rekindled in his gut.

He could still hear them.

He moved across the room as swiftly as he could, occasionally whipping his head around and swearing up and down that the sound had briefly grown louder and approached him from behind. It grew quieter the farther he went, and by the time he placed his hands on the smooth bannister, he might've sworn it was another home entirely.

However, the sound of whispers upstairs pulled him from his idle speculation, his curiosity and desire for answers warring with his self-preservation.

The latter won, in this case. He was in too deep. He needed _something_ to justify this craziness. He _had_ to know. Up and up he went, following the hiss of voices in undertone, until he came upon the top floor, a set of austere rooms with doors ajar. Only one such room was occupied, flashes of black and gold confirming his assumptions of who was inside.

He crept up slowly, then faster, impatience making the floor creak in ways that made him wince. But, he finally stumbled to the door, and pressed his ear to it.

 _"_ _-too messy!"_ A somewhat familiar voice said, high pitched and angry. He eventually pinned it to Yuuma, tension frissioning down his back. _"_ _What the fuck am I supposed to do?! You saw Freed, the uppity little shit! He's-"_

 _"_ _Lord Azazel trusts you, so much!"_ A young voice said encouragingly. _"_ _I'm really, really sorry, but it's all I have, you know? I was asked to help, but you need to tell me more of what's going on."_

 _"_ _I know."_ Her voice had softened at the name Azazel, before hardening. " _But, did he really send you? Azazel isn't the sort to send middle-management out to handle his problems._ "

" _It would need to be his problem then, hmm?_ " The childish giggled. _"_ _But isn't he being thoughtful? I would be a lot more discreet than one of the fallen!"_

 _"_ _And a lot less useful to boot."_ Yuuma snarled. _"_ _Azazel knows how important this town is! That Satan bitch is down the fucking street, bloody coward that she is! I can't hold this place on my own, her fucking mutt's already tracking down Freed's men, leaving aside that Freed goes through his workers faster than any motherfucker in this whole shithole town!"_  
There was a brief pause, and Issei leaned back and fanned his face a bit. _Whoo_ , that was kinda hot, if Issei was being honest. She was really sexy when she was intense. He didn't really get what they were talking about, but damn did she seem to care about it.

Maybe if he learned more, he could...

 _"_ _Mr. Freed is extremely violent, yes, but his talent should be sufficient..."_ but the response was weak, and Yuuma knew it.

" _He's the reason we're being tracked at all! He literally cannot keep it in his pants! Half our operations in the city were blown wide open! He couldn't resist looking for..."_ She fell silent.

" _For the boy? Lady Mittelt did mention that-_ "

Issei was so goddamn confused. This all sounded like a lot of weird shit that was completely tangential to anything relevant at all. _Lord_ was a weird thing to call someone, was Azazel yakuza?

Was _Yuuma_ yakuza? No, wait, she was living in a church Issei, she was clearly a priest of some kind maybe. God, what the fuck kinda priest was that hot? Was it too late to convert?

His introspection was deep enough to tune out the rest of the sentence, but a loud noise brought him back.

" _FUCK her!_ " The response was so violent that Issei whipped his head away as the sound of something shattering echoed. " _Her and the rest of those filthy traitors! They backed down! I'll hunt them down and-_ "

" _She wasn't wrong!_ " The polite voice protested. " _She was in danger! The Gremory rook had approached as-_ "

A hand reached his shoulder and Issei whipped around, nearly screaming in sudden fear. A gentle hand clapped itself over his mouth, revealing the little nun, Asia, looking at him nervously.

 _"_ _Why are you-"_ She began, before her eyes refocused on the room behind Issei.

The room had gone silent.

Asia squeaked, ripping her hand away and dashing into the room, revealing that she'd been so short she'd been only a head taller than him while he was crouching. Issei sat there, briefly stunned, before jerking up and diving into the room after her.

He landed roughly, sliding a bit and scrabbling inside, ankles feeling distinctly cold as they stuck out the door.

The next door opened suddenly, and Issei shot into the fetal position.

"I heard voices." Yuuma's rough voice said.

Issei teared up a bit as his heart shot down his gut and lodged itself somewhere near his pelvis.

"Should I call Freed?" The other voice asked hesitantly.

Terrified, he began sucking his thumb a little for comfort. If Freed came up, it was game over. His hands began shaking again. The darkness was growing closer. He would die. Freed was a monster. He could never walk down a dark alley again, for fear of red eyes opening in the dark.

"..."

Issei trembled a bit more, feeling his throat tighten up more.

"No." The lovely voice said slowly, eventually. "He's probably...preoccupied."

She slowly shut the door behind her with a gentle _click_ , and Issei was left shaking in a ball, arms aching from how hard he'd been clenching his knees.

Eventually, he loosened up enough to let go, and lie on the floor.

The world seemed to spin around him, an age and a half passing before he could even feel his limbs again.

"She's a bad person, isn't she." He whispered.

Gentle padding of feet shook the floor near his head, until Asia squatted down next to his head.

" _Please do not hate Miss Raynare._ " She spoke hesitantly. The words continued to elude him, but her eyes were sincere. " _She's...she's not bad. Maybe a little pitiable, is all._ " She bit her lip, and perhaps she was uncomfortable saying what she had.

Could two people communicate without words, Issei wondered. Who was she worried for, to look so distressed. Him? Or the girl he was rapidly learning he hadn't known at all?

Perhaps it was the latter, as the nun continued to glance up at the door with sad eyes. It wasn't like he knew _her_ either. He didn't know anyone here.

His fist slammed into the floor.

Asia jumped back with a yelp as Issei ground his teeth.  
Fucking _idiot_ , what was he _doing_ here?!

He punched the floor again.

What had he been hoping for?!

His fist slammed into the floor again, and this time it hurt so much he collapsed back onto his face, hissing in pain and cradling his hands.

Tears watered his vision, and he rolled back onto his side. Asia showed up in his vision, but this time farther away. She was huddled against the wall, looking at him cautiously.

Ah...had he scared her?

He couldn't tell her he meant no harm after all.

Could two people truly communicate without words?

Worry shown in her eyes, but for whom? Her fingers twisted anxiously, but why? She couldn't meet his eyes, and yet why try to convey something at all?

Even the tightening of his fists caused her to inch backwards. She didn't flinch or look scared, so she hadn't been attacked before. She was simply...unused to being confronted.

"I'm sorry." He said shamefully. What right did he have to hurt her, even emotionally? To judge her or Yuuma with so little to go on?

" _Are you apologizing...mister?"_ Her words trailed off. Issei's shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry." He repeated.

She stared at him, earnestly, and he couldn't bear to even try to express that he didn't get it. That he simply couldn't understand what she wanted to say.

She bit her lip. " _You, you seem like a kind man?"_ She said hesitantly. " _You don't need to apologize for anything! I just..."_ She hunched in on herself.

" _I want to go home._ " She whispered. " _What am I doing here... Mother Griselda, what do I do...?"_ Her back began shaking, trembling a little

He wanted to go home. He wanted to be safe, see his parents downstairs, steal a cookie, call his friends, and know school was the next day. He wanted to watch an anime, eat garbage, hit on girls and play eroge. He wanted to be _home_ and _safe_ , so fiercely that even he could empathize with the little nun.

Issei hesitantly reached out, and patted her a little on the shoulder. A little. He tried to will his condolences at her as well, but dear god did crying girls terrify him. He still had no idea if he'd been forgiven, standing awkwardly as Asia crumpled in on herself.

Did he do this?

Doubtful. She looked alone, to be honest. Scared and lonely.

He patted her on the shoulder, one more time. For the road. And again, for thanks. One more time, 'cause she was cute, and another because she was turning red.

Eventually, she turned to face him, furiously rubbing at her face. Her puffy cheeks were blotchy, and swollen, but she'd firmed her stance.

" _You need to run._ " She said firmly. " _I...you, you are a good person. You shouldn't be here."_ She seized his hand, and began dragging him to the window.

He stumbled along behind, until he eventually came to a halt staring out the window. "The stars are nice." He said lamely, deeply unsettled. Was she an astronomer or something?

She began furiously pointing at the glass. " _Open! Go!"_ She said urgently, growing more and more firm in her words. " _Run away, please!"_ She seized the window and hauled it upwards.

She turned to look at him expectantly, and Issei immediately grasped what was going on.

"Oh _hell_ no." He backed away, shaking his head. "Uh-uh, nuh-uh. That's a _two story drop_ , not a chance."

" _Please!_ " Her voice grew pleading. " _Just go! Freed will hurt you, like he does the others! You, you're not one of them, so please escape!_ "

Issei, despite himself, stepped forwards, leaning, and bracing himself against the frame. "Are-are you sure about this?" His voice warbled a bit. "Could I take, like a ladder?"

" _Let me save at least one life this night_." She was almost whispering now, and god help him but maybe they didn't need words to communicate. Issei could feel that, at least, she meant him well. He chanced another look outside.

It wasn't _that_ high up.

He hefted himself up onto it, and prepared to drop. And yet, a thought held him back.

"W-what about you?" He turned a little, half-squatting on the sill. "They're scary you know?" _Death death death the halls._ "C-come with me!" He blurted, offering her his hand.

But she shook her head and stepped away. " _They'll punish me, but it's not too serious."_ She smiled weakly. _"_ _But if I go, you'll die. Freed will kill you, and you have no way to escape or live."_ She took his hand, and for one brief moment he hoped.

Then she folded it against him, and shoved him off.

For a brief moment, he swallowed his heart.

Then he landed with a sick _thump,_ bouncing a bit, and all he felt was pain. His spine was in agony, radiating through his whole back. He arched his spine, hissing, and coughed violently.

He survived! How nice.

" _Go!"_ The harsh whisper came from above.

He slowly stood, knees wobbling, sharp pain lancing through him if he moved too quickly. Eventually he straightened, and turned to look back, craning his neck. It was shaded, that high above, the sun already beyond the horizon. He started taking slow steps back, one after another, eyes fixed on the windowsill.

He found himself jogging before long, and running, before panic seized his heart, and turned back.

A long moment passed, before hand poked out, and began violently jabbing. When he hesitated, it jabbed even harder.

He let his heart carry him, and he ran. Because god help him, he never wanted to return.

He wanted to go _home_.

The pavement was hard, and his clothes uncomfortably bit into his legs and ass. He could barely breathe, and his back ached like hell. But he ran and kept running, Asia fading from mind, to be replaced with pounding blood and creeping shadows behind every corner. Exhaustion tore at him, and tears threatened to fall when he realized how far he still had to go.

**Boost**

The strength rushed back, and he took off, twice as fast.

" _Chuu, boya." Laughter and the weight of cold steel against his head._

His legs pumped without even thinking.

He ran.

Away.

Far, far away from that hell, he ran, ghostly laughter pounding in his ears, faster than he ever had.


	14. Issei Hyoudou totally got shot down

Issei stumbled into class, exhausted. The sunlight was almost painfully bright, refracting through the window panes, but it wasn't bright enough to mask out Motohama and Matsuda's taunting grins beside his desk.

He paused in front of it, looming over them as they craned their heads back to make sure he could see them laughing at him.

"Look guys, ..." He started, but gave up when their smiles widened.

There was no winning this.

He resigned himself to a long day and collapsed into Matsuda's desk instead, feeling their stares like a physical heat on the side of his head. Like a gyroscope, the locus of their attention swirled around him, and he wasn't feigning his nausea. He started scratching his chest absently as they repositioned around him.

" _So..._ " Motohama whispered, now behind his left shoulder. " _How was the date, loverboy._ "

Issei slowly closed his eyes.

" _Did you touch her tits._ " Matsuda hissed. " _Did you hit second base?_ "

Issei sighed heavily. They held their breaths, waiting. They already knew. They could tell from his face. They just wanted to hear him say it.

"I blew it."

Motohama and Matsuda high-fived behind his head. Issei slowly leaned his head back, and braced himself.

Motohama put his fingers in his mouth, and blew out a piercing whistle. "HEY GUYS, ISE GOT SHOT DOWN."

There was a moment of blessed, respectful silence before everyone burst into raucous laughter. He endured a small storm of headpats and ruffles as the classroom gathered around him to celebrate his misery. He felt himself physically curl into himself as Aika parked her ass on his desk and started taking pictures.

"I'll send you copies for your scrapbook!" She explained sweetly. "I hear some people document their failures to learn how to get over them."

"You know," she added smugly. "For next time."

His neck and jaw were already aching from how tense he was, but he felt his back physically cement into cords.

" _I didn't get shot down."_ He mumbled angrily, burying his face.

"Don't worry Issei-kun." Said Riajuu-kun, and his unpleasant girlfriend smiled at him. "It's perfectly _normal_."

"It's a part of life!" Said Dickface-kun. Prick-san agreed with several strong nods that sent his chins a-wobble. "You'll learn to get over it!"

"It's not the end of the world!" Bitch-chan made sure to remind him.

Issei tremulously smiled in a way that somehow failed to convey how much he hated every single thing right now, as they laughed and patted him on the back.

Aika however, continued to grin and sit on his desk, occasionally snapping pictures.

" _What_." Issei snapped. She snickered and snapped another one. Incensed, Issei reached over and slapped the camera out of his face, an action she only laughed harder at as she hopped to her feet.

"You're more smug than usual Kiryuu." Motohama folded his arms and observed.

She danced from foot to foot, grinning. "I got an Op/Ed column in _Kuoh Today!_ to write a segment on." She licked her lips, and spun on her heel, pointing to another boy walking back to the front. "See Kazuo- _kuuun_ there?"

The boy in question was standing tall and swaggering a bit, slightly bowlegged and careless. His hair was short-cropped over a slab of a brow, but his eyebrows were raised as though in perpetual surprise.

"He had sex last night."

" _What?!"_ "How can you tell?!" "No fucking way."

"Way." Aika grinned. "I bet I could pin down the girl who did it in a day or two if I cared, but she doesn't matter. Point is, a guy only has _that_ much confidence in his mediocre looks after his luck turns up heads."

The boys winced. They may have considered themselves better looking than Kazuo, but not by _that_ much.

"Contrast!" Aika whirled around and jabbed a finger into Issei's face. "This sad fuck. Pathetic. You look like someone shit in your cheerios. You didn't get dumped, you got _crushed_."

Issei collapsed into his arms, falling onto his table with a rattling _thump_.

"I'm gonna call it ' _A Dichtomy of Choices'_." Aika chortled maliciously. Motohama and Matsuda's teeth were chattering as they stared down the girl who, despite being of even height, towered over them.

Issei felt a lone tear come to his eyes.

"Alright you unpleasant shitheads, sit down." Hana-sensei yelled, sliding the door open with her foot, arms full of a binder and a cup of coffee*.

*Hana-sensei was infamous for spiking her coffee with blends potent enough to have some third-years hurling after several ill-thought out dares.

The class was immediately forced to step back and away, lest they incur just wrath. Issei took a brief moment to bless Hana-sensei's wellbeing for the first time ever, as they watched Aika slouch over to her desk with a dissatisfied expression.

The usual procedures followed, though Issei didn't even bother standing to bow. It was worth the chalk to the head to save that energy.

Motohama tossed his hand up. "Sensei!" He hollered. "I sent in an email yesterday-"

"Yeah I got it." She grumbled. "Sit the fuck down, you can leave early."

Issei and Matsuda whipped their heads over to look at him. He shrugged, adjusting his specks. "It's legit."

"What happened?" Issei asked, grateful for the topic shift.

Motohama scratched his chin awkwardly. "So I was playing Tekken right? Some dude was lag-switching-"

"You can't lag-switch in Tekken, dude." Issei folded his arms.

"-he was _cheating_ , my inputs were landing off." Motohama glared at the weakly grinning boy. " _Anyway_ , I tossed my controller at the wall cause I was pissed off, but when I went to get it, I slammed my foot against the wall, and bruised my little toe. The nail fell off."

Matsuda stared at him. "The fuck? That can _happen_?"

Motohama grimaced. "Apparently."

Matsuda shuddered violently. "Nuh-uh. I don't fucking like that. The fuck is that?"

Issei absently scratched his chest. "Nah, I get that weird shit too. I woke up with hives on my gut. Itchy as hell."

"Ew."

"I know right." Issei nodded morosely. "Weird as hell."

"Nah, actually." Matsuda said, rolling his shoulder. "Happens on the track team once in a while. Friction and sweat. Did you run somewhere in tight clothes, then sleep without changing?"

_Issei was still crying as he rounded the corner to the park, tears rolling down his face and dripping off his nose. His clothes were ruined, he thought absently, stretched and probably stained with all kinds of shit. Dust and...stuff. Fuck, he hated this, he hated-_

"Nah." Issei said blandly. Matsuda tossed his hands up. "Got me then. Might be an allergy."

"You should get that shit checked out." Motohama advised, settling down into Issei's seat. Matsuda shrugged, sitting down in Ayame's seat, who stood behind him looking irritated indeed before she gave up and walked around them to slump into Motohama's seat.

"Thank fuck that's done." Hana-sensei grumbled, taking a deep slurp. "It's self-study, the new Fire Emblem's out and Sensei needs her kickback."

That said, she collapsed into her seat and the entire classroom gave up the pretense of giving a shit about work.

Matsuda began doodling something and Motohama dropped his pencil outright and started staring at the girls in the class.

Issei, however, seized his notebook and started writing. He'd skipped working to go out with...to head out early yesterday, and sorta banked on Hana-sensei being a lazy shit so he could complete next period's assignment.

The sound of writing filled the air for 20 minutes or so, and Issei ignored the odd looks his classmates were sending him to focus. He ended up guessing on a lot of it, but the comfort of taking his mind off...stuff, and just focus on something else felt nice.

But all good things came to an end, and Issei eventually leaned back with a creaking sigh, slapping his books shut.

So what's the plan now?" Issei mused, leaning against the back of his seat. Twin vertebral snaps heralded Motohama and Matsuda laser-focusing on him, and he nearly recoiled at the stone-faced seriousness they bore. The two stood up and dragged their seats over quickly, slamming the desks together. Matsuda, especially, looked eager, and quickly proved why; the momentum from the impact swung his suspiciously bulging backpack up, and he caught and tossed it on the table.

It popped open, and with a sound like the trumpets of heaven, vhs after cd after vhs spilled out. Issei trembled in his seat. "Ah, Matsuda-kun, what is this?"

"It's porn." Matsuda whispered gently.

Issei took a long moment to stop, and look at it. _Really_ look at it. Medium after medium of petty joy, the kind that made Ayame turn away and Aika point and laugh. But out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Motohama and Matsuda looking at him anxiously, trading somewhat nervous looks.

He sighed again. He thought about black hair swishing through dusty pews, blonde shining in the moonlight, a smile like winter and a voice like thunder.

"Got any nun porn?" Issei asked automatically.

Motohama took his glasses off, briefly dabbed at his eyes, before snapping them back on and standing. "To the AV room!"

* * *

"So you _were_ here."

Issei tipped back his seat and looked overhead at an upside-down Kiba gingerly stepping around the audio equipment in disarray all around the room.

Matsuda hit pause on the video, casting an appreciative look at the still frame that did wonders for showing off the actresses assets.

"What's up." Issei asked lazily. He felt good. This was nice. The kind of normality that he hadn't realized he'd clung to so strongly.

Kiba ignored the screen pointedly, instead coming to a rest on the side of the room, leaning against a server rack.

"It's somewhat chilly in here, no?" He observed mildly.

"Sure is." Matsuda grunted. "Gotta keep the equipment cold or it overheats."

He cast a curious look at the unlocked door, and Motohama sighed and answered the unspoken question.

"We cut a deal with Mr. Yokatsu." He idly kicked a computer; it whirred and spat out it's disk reader. "We maintain the machines, and we get free use of the room at all hours." He grinned and pointed at the plasma screen 32-inch balanced precariously on four power cables, with the lovely blonde actress still frozen front and center. "And also all the broken electronics. Ms. Yamada handed this one off 'cause the wall mount broke."

"Luxury up _graaaade!_ " Issei sang.

"We usually don't bother so much these days, Matsuda has a better rig at home, but Ise needed some cheering up." Motohama continued moodily.

Kiba snorted a bit. "I heard rumor that Ise-san had come down with lovesickness."

Matsuda leaned back in his seat and rolled his eyes. "Implying that this nerd is actually in love."

Kiba actually cocked a head at that, as Issei glared at Matsuda.

"I've been tellin' Issei all day. He's not in love with her." Matsuda's muffled voice said, swallowing a bit of popcorn. "He's in lust."

"...in lust." Kiba's voice was dry. "I see."

"Come on man," Motohama's voice was pained. "I _know_ you're a jealous little bitch-"

"No _shut the fuck up_ Moto." Matsuda threw some popcorn at his head. "I know what the fuck I'm talking about."

"Prove it." Motohama mumbled, crunching the popcorn he'd been tossed.

Matsuda whirled around. "Issei. Name something you like about this chick."

"Don't I get any say in this topic?!" Issei cried. "What the hell is this?! I never asked for this shit, man!"

"Answer the question." Matsuda growled.

"Er..." Issei cast his mind out for an answer. "Her face."

Matsuda raised a brow. "Something else."

"Her chest." Issei snapped back.

"Something _else."_ Matsuda continued relentlessly.

Issei's mind went blank. "Her...hair?"

Matsuda stared him. "Pick something that isn't to do with her _appearance?_ "

"Her...smile." Issei worried his lip.

 _"_ _That's still physical_."

"I dunno!" Issei exploded. "I got nothing!"

"Exactly!" Matsuda exclaimed triumphantly. "You ain't got _shit_!"

"The hell does that mean?" Motohama asked, intrigued despite himself.

"It means that this little fuck duped himself." Matsuda folded his arms. "I can prove it. You wanna know the fuck how? He was surprised when she wasn't interested in him, and, _in his own words not 15 minutes ago,_ 'maybe turned out to be a bad person'. Case in point, he doesn't know _shit_ about her, the fuck is that love worth." Matsuda threw his hands up. "He even told us that he followed her cause she felt lonely! The fuck man?! Sing to the moon, it's a helluva lot lonelier than she is! Sing to the sun, the stars in the sky, or the clouds drifting by!" Matsuda's head tilted down, and he stared at Issei with something approaching anger in his eyes. "But don't, _don't_ delude yourself into thinking you love her, that a pretty face and a sob story are enough for that kinda shit."

There was silence for a second.

"Jesus fuck man." Said Motohama, impressed. Issei quailed a bit further into his seat, having been forced into it by Matsuda's words. "Dude, why are you so fucking tilted."

"BECAUSE I WANT MY BIG TIDDY GOTH GF'S LOVE TO BE MORE MEANINGFUL THAN THIS BULLSHIT!" Matsuda roared to the heavens, standing and punching at the ceiling. "IF _THIS_ IS LOVE, THE FUCK AM _I_ GONNA HAVE TO SETTLE FOR?!"

He fell quiet, arms falling to the side and reddening as slow smiles crept across their faces.

"I mean..." he said. "I uh, I was lookin' out for Issei."

He coughed a little.

Motohama snapped and began howling with laughter, and an enraged Matsuda began hurling empty cd boxes at him.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"Y-y-you sad fuck!" Motohama choked. "Oh my god."

Issei leaned his head back with a quiet thump. "Why the fuck was I even worried about what this dumbass had to say." He sighed quietly. His head lolled to the left, and he looked at Kiba dully. "Hey, do us a solid." He stretched a bit. "Don't tell anyone else we're here. It's a bit of a secret."

Kiba looked like he was fighting back a smile, but his lips were quirking up. "This seems rather compromising to be caught in, then?"

Issei's ears caught the laughter, and he sat bolt upright as the words registered. "Caught?" Motohama and Matsuda stopped wrestling to focus in Kiba's words, blank cd's slowly crackling underfoot.

Kiba leaned away, catching a stray sunbeam on his fine-boned face and widening smile. "Ah, did I forget to mention? It _is_ why I dropped by. President Sona is on her way, you know?"

The room exploded into a flurry of panic and screams.

"That bitch!" Matsuda gibbered. "I knew she had it out for us!"

"Of course she does." Kiba blinked slowly, unruffled.

Motohama groaned, bodily hurling dvd's into his backpack by the handful. "Issei, cleanup protocol."

"On it." Issei seized the computer, tore out the wires, and lifted it.

"Ah, Ise-san, maybe that's not-"

Then slammed the wide side across his knee, where it shattered into a mass of flying plastic, disk tape and chipsets.

His thigh hurt, but his heart hurt more. As the shattered wreck of _B.D._ went flying past, they collectively shed a tear.

_Godspeed_

Kiba looked like he was blinking away a headache, but still managed to smile politely. "What now?"

Matsuda coughed a bit as he pulled some dusty safety masks from the top row of a crooked shelving unit. Waving the dust away, he tossed Kiba a spare mask, handing Issei and Motohama ones with their names on it before pulling on his own.

"Now, you look busy." Issei's muffled voice said. "S.O.P. for council checkups."

" _Normally_ we get formal notice." Motohama said, grabbing a broom and starting to sweep pieces into the corner. "But someone must've tipped them off. Kiba, you mind helping?"

Kiba blinked, startled. "Ah, yes, Motohama-san?"

Matsuda tossed him a dirty monitor, one Kiba fumbled with for a second before hefting it without even a grunt. Issei whistled, impressed. Matsuda had pulled that on him before; those were at least 30 pounds still. "E-waste." Came Matsuda's grumpy reply, clearly disappointed by Kiba's dexterity. "Take it out back? No need to get you wrapped up in this. Moto, can you-"

"Actually." Issei spoke up, mind racing. "I'll show him where it is."

Matsuda paused, turning to look at him eye to eye, before nodding. "Sure. You're gonna take the stairwell route then?"

Issei nodded, before tapping Kiba on the shoulder and guiding him out of the room carefully. Once they left, Issei picked up the pace, heading to the back exit of their building.

"Stairwell route?" Kiba asked curiously behind him.

"The long way around." Issei replied without turning. "I needed to talk to you about something."

Kiba sucked in a quick breath, before his pace grew more measured.

"Very well Ise-san. Please speak."


	15. Yuuto Kiba desires absolution

"What is that expression on your face, Ise-kun?"

Kiba's hand reached up to his own face, twisting his thumbs into his lips, and tugging the corners downward, narrowing his eyes and making his nose seem thinner. The indexes touched in the center of the stretched lips, and slowly traced the curve of his new expression.

"What is this expression, Ise-kun?" He slid his thumbs off his lips, letting the frown snap back into his usual tight smile. "Is something wrong?"

Issei wondered if the wry expression on his face looked so bothersome to Kiba. "I'm fine." Issei informed Kiba, refusing to make eye contact. Issei hefted the bin a bit, slowing his walk, and turning a bit to watch Motohama and Matusda begin hauling entire server racks off their shelves to dust them.

They waved him off rudely. Issei's brow twitched, but he turned around with a huff. "Let's just move quickly." He grumbled, bin rattling as he hefted it onto his knee. Some of the loose stuff rattled as he moved slowly down the corridor, praying to god that Sona would 'happen' to round the corner at that exact moment, like she had every other time they hadn't wanted her around. Prez had the nasty habit of popping up at the worst times; this had been some of the most warning they'd ever got. Last time she'd implied some truly appalling consequences for _indulging_ during class hours again. Fortunately, their AV room of choice was in a disused part of the building, so noise carried.

He blinked away the motes of dust falling like snow in the emptier parts of the building, allowing Kiba to keep pace with him. The sun shot through the windows like solid beams, propping the shimmering windows up as shadows began to yawn across the crossways. Their footsteps echoed, bouncing off the walls. The two boys even found themselves stifling even their breath, so silent were the hallways.

And yet, eventually the silence broke.

"What sort of person was he, Ise-kun?" Kiba asked softly.

Issei's heart briefly stuttered, and he whipped around to look at the stoic boy. "What?" He searched Kiba's face for some kind of accusation, but it remained placid. And yet, they both understood that it _was_ more than a simple question.

"What did you think of him?" Kiba repeated.

Issei opened his mouth to ask any of several exceedingly pointed and justifiably accusatory questions, but slowly changed his mind. The sight of that ghoulish man revelling in man-made chaos was one he'd be forgetting about any time soon, and perhaps...he owed it to a girl. To at least try, even if he himself couldn't. It wasn't particularly cool, but he could own that if she was safe.

"Terrifying." Issei said slowly. And they both understood who was being spoken of.

"That corresponds to the rumors I have heard about him." Kiba nodded absently. "I hoped you wouldn't, but perhaps you meeting Sellzen was inevitable."

"How did you know?" Issei wondered allowed. Because it beggared the question - how _much_ did  
Kiba - did the devil know?

"I didn't - but it certainly seemed like something you would do." Kiba continued moving smoothly beside him. If he knew anything, he wasn't giving much away. "-because Freed Sellzen possesses something you desire."

Questions upon questions.

 _Something I desire_. Issei thought back to that warm day that he saw the priest making himself at home in the crowds of the marketplace. Even back then, he'd known that the priest represented something, some kind of turning point or nebulous goal. Some inner strength Issei wished he felt. He hadn't known quite what that was back then, but then did he, even now? The priest seemed to exist on his own terms, and perhaps it was what he possessed that buoyed him so. Issei certainly couldn't live so boldly.

"Why have you gotten wrapped up in such things, Ise-kun?" Something flickered behind Kiba's eyes. "Why can you simply not let live and let go? It's the easier path, by far, even in terms of convenience."

That was a good question, Issei realized, and to be honest he really didn't have a good reason. He simply couldn't stand up for himself, you know. All these people with strong opinions, he was the sort of guy to go with what they wanted. Whirled around like a leaf, he was a victim to all these people with agendas. All he'd really wanted was a date, some good food, and maybe to be someone's hero. Three strikes was too much for his maiden heart to bear, he simply didn't have the energy to protest the injustice. They arrived at the door, and he still didn't really have an answer, in the end.

"I wasn't actually given any choice in the matter." Issei lied, stopping to lean against the wall as he tried to readjust the bin so he could heft it one-handed.

Kiba took two quick steps forwards, and gently shoved the crash bar back, swinging the door open and politely holding it. Issei grunted, stumping past and onto the tiny stairwell. The bin scraped the walls as they trudged down the tiny passage in line, and if Issei scraped the bin a bit harder than necessary to fill the awkward silence, then Kiba had nothing to say about it.

The trash sparked a little as Issei bagged it for the e-disposal bin. Kiba leaned against the wall behind him, waiting, but no question passed his lips. Issei opened and closed his mouth for a second, standing beside Kiba but unable to voice what he wanted.

_These bags are really heavy_

He gave up, and moved to start loading them up, but heard a quiet rustle behind him.

Issei's back straightened, startled. Had Kiba taken the bags to the bin?! They were really heavy! If he'd moved them, they were definitely a struggle. He was struggling, but that was why people called Kiba a good person, wasn't it? He was definitely the kind of guy to do something so unnecessary.

Issei whirled around to apologize and thank Kiba, but stopped. The blonde boy stood guilelessly, holding the smallest and lightest bag of the five that Issei managed to fill.

Issei hadn't even expected anything, and he was still disappointed.

He moved quickly, grabbing the bags and hefting them with a grunt, and moving to the disposal bin. It was a struggle, and left him breathless, but the sight of Kiba casually moving and twirling the little bag filled him with a burning rage and plenty of energy to burn. He forced the bags into the bin with more energy than it warranted, but he felt better by the end of it.

And now they needed to wait. The little courtyard they were in was behind the school, off to the side so both the new and old school buildings were visible. It was in a grove of sorts, surrounded by trees, but with multiple gravel roads leading out for access to the dumpsters. The burnable trash merrily popped around the back, but the two of them remained standing quietly in the shade.

"Charming." The answer was sudden but honest, unexpectedly so for all that it was warranted. "Freed was...charming." Indeed, more than the gore coating the pews, what struck him was the way no one flinched. The line never shifted. Perhaps questions and voices were raised, but not a single man stepped out of line besides himself. "He moved like he knew his place in the world." The words continued to fall from his lips, thoughts that had never congealed and envy unspoken. "Everyone else acted like that too - like he was something more than them somehow. He acted however he wanted and spoke whenever he felt like."

"People say that about you too, Ise-kun." But the words were thoughtful, not as accusatory or teasing as he'd expected. It was an uncomfortable way to speak, and Issei didn't like it.

"That's different." The stifling feeling in his chest agreed. It wasn't one he normally paid attention to, simply because he was confident it was common and unspoken. The need to watch his tongue, speak carefully in case he actually offended someone. It wasn't the same.

"Yes." Kiba agreed, to Issei's discomfort. "It is, very different indeed." Now Kiba understood him a little better. And that was something to fear, no? But Issei understood Kiba a little better too, and that was even scarier.

You couldn't understand someone like that without feeling slightly responsible for it.

"You know him."

"Not even a little." Kiba replied smoothly, and that was a little more than Issei wanted to understand. Because it meant that it wasn't Freed himself that Kiba hated so strongly, but something about what he represented.

"I too, wish to speak to Freed Sellzen."

That dark something flickered behind his eyes once more, and this time it didn't pull away. It lingered like a flame, dancing behind his eyes. "We are in similar circumstances, Ise-kun." Kiba said softly.

"We're not."

A brow raised.

"Oh?"

Issei felt the pulped mass in his chest beat once, twice. "I can't be a hero. Or cool. I'm handsome of course, and witty and smart," he took a moment to stop and preen, but immediately sobered. "But I'm not cool. Or strong."

"Why?"

"I ran away. I couldn't even help an innocent girl."

Kiba stilled. "Then perhaps we are very similar indeed."

Issei felt his eye twitch, whirling around, but the dark expression on Kiba's face halted his tongue.

"Where is he, Ise."

"The church on the hill." Issei hesitated. "He isn't alone."

"Tell me more."

For all that he was taller, the younger boy felt very small. But he spoke. He spoke of a girl, tall and lovely and confident in a way that put him to shame but drew him helplessly. He spoke of a another, an innocent that danced a line he hadn't noticed and of a man that waited for her to fall, of a people that lost themselves in fancy and fear, and of a church that lay dark even on the warmest nights.

The blonde boy walked away silently, leaving a shivering brunette cold in the sun.

_Ah yes, this was a devil was it not?_

But what did that mean?

Issei slowly allowed himself to fall backwards, slumping onto the grass. His face grew thoughtful, thoughts dancing below the surface.

* * *

Yuuto Kiba moved quickly, but his face was calm. Taking the steps two at a time, he swung into the school building with a grace belying his speed, and in a matter of minutes found himself slowly rejoining the bustle and crowds.

"Senpai."

"Koneko." The words were warm, and he smiled at the young woman who smoothly stepped up to his side. They traded sideways glances, each as emotionless as the other.

"Where were you." The girl stared. The boy smiled. "I was occupied by my classmates."

Her face wrinkled into a look of mild disgust. Kiba said nothing, the silence between them filled by the sounds of teenagers slamming doors shut. He continued at a slower pace, Koneko only splitting with him at the end of the hallway, pointing up a staircase tucked into the side and shooting him a thoughtful look. He never turned to face her, only turning to run smoothly up the steps to the third floor. He slowed as he neared the top, moving at a respectfully average pace and nodding. Rias waited next to the stairwell, Akeno leaning over the bannister to her side to wave cheerfully at him. The look on Rias's face was not as friendly however, puzzlement and some consternation playing out in her eyes and lips. Kiba's expression never changed as he approached, sketching a quick bow that he disguised as exhaustion before standing upright. She opened her mouth, but Kiba spoke faster.

"I found them."

Rias's lips pursed, her eyes immediately a-whirl dissecting that statement. Kiba continued to hold a placid look even as Akeno wandered over and placed a hand on her shoulder.

" _What's that?_ " Her voice felt like it was tickling his ear as she whispered, the casualness of the motion undercutting how tersely she spoke. " _Where-_ "

"I am friendly with many of my classmates, many of whom enjoy Kuoh's nightlife-"

Akeno violently snorted, before reasserting control of herself.

"...enjoy spending time outdoors after dark. The goodmen in question were...less circumspect than their position would indicate."

Rias raised a brow. "This wouldn't have anything to do with that little nighttime rendezvous that you popped off to, now would it?"

"It was an emergency." Kiba objected firmly.

"The list of people that want to kill Kiba can be narrowed down to the entire male student body and half the female one." Akeno admitted airily. "Plus Sona."

Rias shrugged. "These things happen. No one told Kiba to be that handsome. It's his fault." Her eyes narrowed. "But he's also _my_ cute knight. Why would anyone think to hurt him?"

"Even I occasionally feel the urge." She side-eyed Kiba's bland smile. "Such as when he _refuses_ to be forthright."

"I couldn't see the victims-"

"-in the dark, yes." Rias rolled her eyes, slumping over the bannister. "And yet you claim-"

"It was definitely Freed attacking them." The stubborn glint in Kiba's eye drew a sigh from Rias. "And you just _happened_ to locate him?"

"I have contacts."

" _A day later."_

"Good contacts."

Rias stamped her feet. " _Kiba!_ "

"Now now," Akeno soothed, demeaningly patting her childish king on the head. She slowly turned to Kiba, the amused look in her eyes making him shudder. "I _love_ the new rebellious streak sweetheart, but really, we _do_ need to know."

"I believe this to be wholly untrue." Kiba replied automatically.

Akeno bit her reponse off, instead thoughtfully sucking on her bottom lip. "...no, I'm gonna say we do. See, moving on an unreliable testimony is...a risk yes?"

Kiba sighed. "I volunteer as scout. And forfeit all my dessert privileges in the meantime."

"Done and done." Akeno dusted her hands off. "I await the good news."

Kiba turned on the spot, as straight-backed as the day they found him, and strode off down the hallway. Akeno and Rias followed his retreating form, Rias miming a tear. "That little boy's all grown-up."

Akeno _leered_ at his backside. "I am _very_ fine with that."

Rias giggled and swatted her friends arm. "Dirty _girl!_ " She smirked and waved off a classmate, lowering her voice to whisper to Akeno. "The rumors are true, huh."

Akeno bit her lip again, smiling. "Little Kiba has a _fwiieeeend_."

Rias squealed with glee, clapping her hands and _bouncing_ in place. "Oh my _god_!"

"I _know_."

Rias stopped dead. "Oh my _god_ we have to invite them." Akeno bit her nail gently, careful not to chip her gloss. "Tea Party?"

Rias shook her head. "They're _boys_."

"Party _with_ tea."

Rias snapped her fingers. "That's the one."

* * *

Yuuto Kiba dreamed, night after night.

He woke again, panting.

"Such violence."

The whisper echoed in his dark room. Yuuto looked at his trembling hands, and clenched them.

"What're you trying to tell me, Sword Birth."

Dreams. Among all in this world, gear holders dreamed deepest. Theirs was the right to peer through time, and see what was.

Some, it was said, could even speak to those that were, but all that Yuuto saw was blood.

A moment's hesitation, and then he levered himself off his sweaty sheets. The bed creaked gently, but he quickly found his feet and padded across his bedroom and out into the cold hallway. His apartment was silent, moonbeams peeking through his thin curtains the only light and his faucet the only sound. Kiba sighed, feeling more awake than he'd hoped, and abandoned any chance of going back to sleep. A flick and pulse of heat and he was no longer alone, a foil now dangling lazily from his fingertips. He brought it up in a fencer's guard, and began practicing his footwork.

The sound of dripping was now joined by the sound of cutting wind and the light crackle of _tatami_ , as the boy danced with the moonlight. Step by step, he danced between moonbeams and pierced each mercilessly. The endless tide of light was cut apart again and again, silver dancing over the walls in the boy's single minded fight.

The blade finally stilled, and the sound of panting joined the orchestra.

"At last."

The boy smiled. Perhaps Issei had been right. It was about time that he lived his life honestly. Perhaps coveting revenge so long was not something to take pride in, but he'd cling to that childish desire with both hands so long as it meant that he could take that small degree of self-satisfaction to the grave.


	16. Yuuto Kiba thirsts for vengeance

"Pardon."

A soft voice echoed as a door gently swung open into a warm living room. It was nighttime beyond the open door, streetlight shining through until the door swung shut. A chill wind blew through, to two people seated around a hardwood table; they blinked and looked up, shivering slightly. The overhead lamp cast their features in harsh shadow, but their new guest seemed to have no trouble making them out, smiling and waving politely. Recognition crossed neither face, though wary caution began to creep up as before them, their new guest gently stamped his feet on the welcome mat and unzipped his jacket, seeming quite at home as he hung it up on the coat hook. The two at the table seemed quite lost for words at this point, the elder recovering far more quickly, slowly rose to his feet.

"Hello there, friend." An elderly man coughed slightly, rubbing his gloved hands together as he turned to the young woman beside him. "Am I interrupting something?"

The young woman seated beside him shook her head mutely.

The man at the door blinked, sliding his outdoor shoes off. "Ah, I apologize." He smiled easily. "I'm afraid not, I'm here on some business If you two would oblige me."

The elderly man frowned, hand drifting down to his waist. "Well then - I'd love to offer you a place at the table, but I'm afraid this is no more my home than yours."

"He can come in." The woman muttered quietly, lowering her head.

The guest bowed his head gratefully, stepping further into the room, though never so close that the overhead lamp illuminated his features. "It's an odd time of night, isn't it." He spoke vaguely, stripping his gloves off and waving them. "For men to be wandering into homes like you and I. Unpleasant even. Impolite at best. With the moon so high, I can hardly be expected to find a welcoming parlor, but alas." He flashed the old man a charming smile. "We must all play the cards we are dealt. I'm glad this kind young woman has the heart to put up with us."

"Perhaps." The old man spoke cautiously, holding his arm up before the young lady, warning her to keep seated and still. "Perhaps it is, for those idle and unwanted, to find a place in this world. I have never felt the like; my good nature speaks for itself.."

"Funny." The man at the door grinned slightly, before switching to his mother tongue. " _Though you must forgive my rudeness Father_."

The old man stiffened further, though his eyes grew misty. " _Your grasp of english is impeccable._ " He spoke stiffly. " _What's a cultured young man like you doing wandering about this time of night?_ " The young woman shivered a little, eyes hidden behind a protective hand. The good Father's wary set eased a bit. He cleared his throat, glancing once down before looking back up. " _Young man, this is a Christian household. Manners be willing, would you like to dine with us? I would speak to this young lady, but I promise my protection to the two of you. There is word of all manner of ill beings in this town, and I'd see you both warned. Particularly at this time of night."_

The boy smiled. " _Protection is a large word to bear on your stooped shoulders sir. Ironic for someone like you Father, eh? Say, you wouldn't happen to be an exorcist, now would you?_ "

The old man blinked and smiled uneasily, a metallic cylinder finding itself smoothly in his grasp. " _Why, I suppose? I was trained, but exorcisms aren't all that common anymore, you know?_ "

" _That's quite alright."_ The boy's smile took on a savage edge. " _I just needed confirmation._ " The world blurred, and then only one of them still blinked as the other found his eyes quite permanently opened. The other at the table, a lovely woman barely past her prime opened her mouth to scream, but found a slim finger tenderly placed at her lips.

"Please do not scream." Yuuto Kiba said gently, blonde hair glowing in the halogen lighting. "It would be very inconvenient. I've quite the route to run, so I'd prefer to avoid complications." The woman shivered a bit, for no matter how handsome a murderer may be, the threat of violence typically tends to put a damper on things. The old priest's head had yet to stop rolling after all, The meaty sound of flesh impacting the floor still echoing in all ears present. It wouldn't be strange for a victim to find themselves wholly lost for thoughts and words, fear dominating their mental processes.

Her eyes crossed slightly, focusing on the flecks of blood on the finger at her lips. " _What's your name?_ " She whispered shyly.

There are, of course, exceptions to everything, and such things should be accounted for. Everyone has priorities of their own after all, some perhaps more deviant than others. This young lady perhaps happened to secretly hope for such excitement in her life. The elderly man seated at her table had seemed quite threatening in hindsight, no? All wrinkled and persuasive and menacing-like. Surely this handsome young man knows what he is doing, rescuing her from such a threat.

Such is life. Fickle at best, alas.

Said young man offered her the smile he reserved for warding off salesmen and slowly lifted his finger away from her, quickly wiping away any stains before offering his clean hand to her once more. "Yamada Hamtaro."

Her eyes creased gently into crescents, and she repeated the name slowly to herself. Kiba looked away gallantly as she began to shake slightly.

" _It's a beautiful name_." She murmured behind his back. "Were you named for the show?"

"No relation." He said distantly. "It was another Hamtaro."

He slowly turned back to the young lady, who had begun tearing up a bit, and reflexively offered her a handkerchief. Glancing away politely as she blew her nose, Kiba slowly panned across the room. It was plainly decorated barring the massive crucifix made of oak spanning an entire wall. So large was it, in fact, that it was placed at a 70 degree angle to fit the entire edifice on a single wall.

Blood now coated more than half of it, but Kiba found it quite poetic how the blood dripped off the wood. There was a metaphor there somewhere.

His head snapped back to her as she shyly offered him back the soggy cloth, and instead reached forwards and curled her fingers around it.

"For you." He said softly. She reddened slightly as he took care to keep his fingers on hers and not the soggy cloth.

"Why are you here...?" She fluttered her eyes.

_I sensed an exorcist and forgot to check for other presences._

"I sensed someone in trouble." He said smoothly, face a flawless mask.

She bought it immediately, shooting the exorcist a dirty look. "I knew he wasn't a true exorcist." She muttered. Kiba paused. She was technically correct, as he was operating with a fallen cell, but the old man had been quite genuine. He smiled awkwardly and chose not to comment, changing the subject.

"How _do_ you feel about exorcists?" He asked politely.

Her eyes flickered to his features. "They're quite kind, aren't they?" She responded immediately.

"Not at all." Kiba responded firmly, mood immediately soured, eyebrows furrowing. "They're terrible. Simply the worst. _Remember that_."

Then he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

* * *

The young lady tucked her brown hair into the crook of her neck shyly. She had perhaps made a slight mistake. She had been slightly drunk, rambling at a vaguely handsome figure about feeling somewhat lonely, being a christian in a predominantly shinto district. She had allowed herself to be dragged home, where the light of her living room cast his features in strong focus.

It was a _young_ man. An _attractive_ young man. She flushed a little. How _naughty_.

"Excuse me," the young man spoke, voice slightly higher pitched without the rumble of the bar around them. "But what _is_ your opinion on exorcists."

She blinked a bit, but shrugged. "They're alright?" She'd felt some degree of discomfort towards the organization. Their faith felt slightly overbearing to her new circumstances. The young man looked unsatisfied. "Just alright? Not the worst? Not terrible at all?"

"Not r-" She blinked, eyes slowly refocusing on the room around her. "Is that a foot?"

The boy jerked his hand up and snapped his fingers.

* * *

The young lady tucked her brown hair into the crook of her neck shyly. She had perhaps made a slight mistake. She had been slightly drunk, rambling at a vaguely handsome figure about feeling somewhat lonely, being a christian in a predominantly shinto district. She had allowed herself to be dragged home, where the light of her living room cast his features in strong focus.

It was a _young_ man. An _attractive_ young man. She flushed a little, following him with her eyes as he stalked about her home, quite at ease and seeming to kick at something in her kitchen. It suited him, to pace about like he _owned_ the place.

She reddened slightly. Dirty, dirty _ooh_.

He walked back smoothly, blind to her _lurid_ thoughts, seating himself at her humble table with a sigh. "Excuse me miss," the young man spoke, voice strained. "But what is your opinion on exorcists."

She frowned, mood slightly soured. "Well," she said uncomfortably. "They're somewhat nosey, aren't they?" They all seemed so very _exhausting_ to deal with.

The boy nodded firmly. "Very true. They're also _evil_. Allow me to convince you..."

* * *

Kiba walked casually out of the home, to the sound of finely aged oak smashing loudly. He congratulated himself on a job well done.

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Kiba blinked politely at an old lady who looked at him with an odd expression.

"Did you just walk out of Miss Hayami's room?" She demanded. "She's a widower, you know?! Young man, I'll not have you fooling about with her!"

"I definitely did not." Kiba insisted, and snapped his fingers*.

*The snapping is more of a metaphor than anything. Mind wiping could occur via anything from interpretive dance to blood sacrifice; it's more of a state of mind than anything, like childhood or british people. Rest assured, if any of these people truly had the mind for it, it wouldn't particularly matter _how_ , only _why_.

The old lady was dazed for a few seconds longer than it took him to dash down the stairs, and off to his next visitation goal. There were so _many_ exorcists after all, but he was in his element. Unfortunately, the exorcists knew this as well, and had already begun hunting down some of his repeat customers.

They were certainly _waiting_ for him, now that he'd attracted their attention. No chance of ambush any longer, they'd never underestimate him under the moonlight. He'd have to get clever about this.

* * *

A man stalking his way down an alley found the dumpsters more full than expected.

* * *

Thirty-seven bottles of beer on a wall fell to the ground with an almighty crash. Father Dumpty was never seen again.

* * *

A crucifix was found nailed to the wall. A man was found headless with six silver pieces in his chest.

* * *

An empty box was found in a meadow. The man it was addressed to never found it, his perp having vanished an hour ago.

* * *

The word "SINNER" was found written in red down an alley wall.

It was paint. Authorities scratched their heads and blamed the youth.

* * *

A church on a lonely hill began making urgent calls. A group of men wearing white, numbers hardly diminished, ran pell-mell for safety, their paranoia bearing fruit.

* * *

No one saw the lights in the 24-hour mart go out. A gang of bikers saw them flicker on. Their statement was taken regarding a man that seemed to have evaporated with a pound and a half of wheat-thins.

The bikers demanded free food. It was given. They provided their statements. They'd never left home that night at all. What bikes?

The investigation went nowhere.

* * *

Raynare of the Grigori continued to plot in silence, looking upon a map listing who had gone missing and where. A picture was painted.

* * *

"Something." Freed Sellzen said slowly. "Has gone wrong." He looked expectantly around the room, but only silence met his expectant gaze.

"I think."

He snorted in disappointment, standing agitatedly and pacing. He occasionally paused to point accusingly, but continued pacing rather than say anything.

One of the heads dripped a bit.

"I agree Marcus." Freed replied absently, pausing in front of the head in question, and readjusting it's placement on the table. He paused and took a step back, using his finger to measure his placement. The other seven heads looked at him accusingly.

"Well, don't look at _me_ like that. _I_ didn't do it." Freed snapped. Perhaps a better question would have been to question the expression on the faces. Normally, shock on dead faces tended to paint a certain picture, such as 'ambush' or 'sudden homicide'. However, Freed Sellzen seemed more puzzled by the head that _wasn't_ terrified.

This and more, Kiba thought to himself as he lay silently under the table upon which he'd arranged the heads. It had worked shockingly well, and Freed Sellzen had shown up not ten minutes later, lumbering over to the pointless gore like a particularly inbred hyena. Perhaps he smelled the human misery, as steeped in it as he was as the rest of his filthy kind, and simply couldn't help it.

"I think you guys were _murdered_." Freed Sellzen slowly concluded. He suddenly brightened. "I bet whoever did it is still nearby!"

"Surprise." Kiba said mildly, rolling out from under the table and attempting to spear the priest from loin to chin. Freed promptly moved, ducking out of the way and cursing as Kiba still managed to cleave open his chin.

" _You're a rude one Mr. Kiba._ " Freed grunted, stumbling back. Kiba stayed on his tail, following up with a vicious backhand that whistled a hair past Freed's grinning face. " _I'll end your filthy kind._ " Kiba snarled.

The assault continued, Kiba's wild swings keeping Freed on the balls of his feet as he continued to carelessly backpedal. " _To be honest, I didn't expect an ambush._ " Freed said, panting. " _Why, I'm honored! Thrilled! Especially by a filthy fuckin' devil! It's like Taco Bell delivering to my door! A clubber that brought a spare shirt for the morning after!_ " He dove to the side, landing on his knees and taking off low. " _Shit, thanks! I'd offer you a handsy, but you don't seem the type!_ " Ducking behind the sofa, he kept running as Kiba pulled out all the stops to butcher, carve, and harvest every bit of furniture between the two. Sword after sword went flying past the priest as he kept running, cotton and felt flying past, victim to Kiba's berserk rampage. Diving behind a chair, he quickly seized the legs, and hurled it at the blonde devil. Kiba casually sidestepped, bringing up Flame Sword and turning the wooden chair to ash in a flash of heat.

His eyes widened as the ash cleared, and Freed's leering face tore through it, lightsword already mid-swing. He rapidly began backpedalling, swing after swing nearly taking his face off as Freed continued to only _accelerate_ , moving faster and faster across the room.

Then Freed tripped over a bit of wood, and went flying, all that speed sending him right past the blond boy and right into the window behind him. Glass tinkled as it fell, shattering with a crash on the ground below him.

For a moment, the only sound was the steady _drip_ of blood from sev- _eight_ sources.

" _Well. That didn't go as intended._ " Freed observed, wheezing a bit. " _Guess you got me on the ropes._ "

" _Your death will be long. And painful._ " Kiba's eyes narrowed. " _I'd say I wouldn't enjoy it, but liars lose dessert privileges._ "

" _That seems patently ridiculous. You're already a scum-sucking piece of shit, and also a devil. Having lying banned on top of that is ridiculous. Your master is a cuck._ " Freed seemed quite miffed as he slowly crawled backwards on the broken glass, the sucking _hiss_ of glass sliding into his hands and into the webbing of his fingers undercut by the slow crushing as it shattered inside his flexing wounds. Freed left a bloody trail as he slowly slid back up to the window.

"What are you doing." Kiba asked, watching with some fascination. "Are you pregaming me?"

"Well." Freed said slowly, placing his hands backwards on the window ledge and _slamming_ down, shattering the glass entirely into his shredded palms. "It strikes me that you probably thought that the window was safe as a means of egress, because of all that broken glass."

It was true.

"Not at all." Kiba lied. "But you won't be able to run fast enough. I can catch you before you fall."

"Azazel is probably somewhere in this town." Freed said promptly.

Kiba's eyes widened. The leader of Grigori, _here_?! He'd assumed that Issei had been duped or lead on, not that he'd _actually_ been onto something! That meant that he was in dang-

In front of Kiba's stunned eyes, Freed turned and dove out the window, laughing victoriously.

* * *

"He cut his tail and ran." Kiba growled. "Like a lizard. An _evil_ lizard. A murderous one too. Also I think he propositioned me, and that offends me even more."

"Tell me more." Akeno urged eagerly, leaning forwards on her couch. "I need to know _everything_. Was he hot?"

"Well, he was an exorcist." Kiba said thoughtfully. "So no. He was subhuman filth."

Akeno nodded wisely, pouring him a cup of tea that he pretended he didn't see her slipping something into.

"Drink this and tell me more." She commanded, an uncomfortable focus in her gaze.

Rias swatted her, irritated. Kiba took the chance to hurl the cup out the window.

"Delicious." He said, ignoring the quiet _shatter_ of his cup. Akeno beamed. Behind him, he felt a burning heat between his shoulder blades as little Koneko judged his actions and worth.

"Disgusting." She concluded. Kiba wilted a little; he'd be missing dessert today then.

Rias had more important things on her mind, bodily punting a sheaf of manila folders off her coffee table and slamming her fist on it. "How _dare_ he proposition my cute little Knight." The paperwork floated down around them, briefly highlighting the room in a warm glow as the light bounced off them and the falling dust.

"Those were President Sona's papers." Koneko quietly pointed out. The room went silent and cold as everyone turned to Rias. She had the cheek to briefly look guilty before righteous fury overtook it once more. Rias sniffed. "Kiba will be pure forever."

Kiba nodded, briefly gratified before he paused. "Wait, _forever_?" He asked with trepidation. He _had_ intended to probably get married to a nice girl and repopulate his orphanage at some point.

"Yes." Rias assured. "Don't worry, you're safe from any dirty hands with me."

"And me." Akeno added eagerly, her own fingers twitching in uncomfortable ways.

Kiba had a sudden flash of empathy and insight from last night.

"Not to change the topic away from this forever." He interrupted the girls and their _vigorous_ grappling session. "But apparently Azazel is somewhere in town." He thought about that for a second. "Probably."

Rias slowly turned to look at him, a wild look in her eyes.

" _Lead_ with that next time." Akeno said tightly, tossing her teacup through the window. The cup shattered loudly, and this time he heard Motohama's loud yelping below. That was the girl's swimming club passing through then, was it already noon?

"I will definitely lead with that next time." Kiba lied boldly.

" _Forget_ that." Rias snapped. "Explain!"

Kiba paused to think about it.


	17. Yuuto Kiba's morality is flexible

Kiba thought carefully about the consequences of lying and trying to hide everything so he could erase even another filthy cockroach from this earth.

On one hand, Koneko was learning how to make ovenless cheesecake.

In the other, he now held a spoon that she'd passed to him. Oh look. That was an easy choice. Hardly a choice at all, even.

"So." Kiba slowly spooned up a bit of whip cream with the cheesy bit. "Mmh. Mm." Why was cheesecake even called that. Did they add cheese to this? It didn't taste like any kind he knew. Maybe, like, cream cheese or something. He could ask Motohama later; it seemed like the sorr of inane factoid he might pick up to impress a girl on a date.

Kiba thought about that. Hm. The line might actually work if Motohama took his fictitious date to a dessert parlor or something. Not bad imaginary-Motohama-kun, Yuuto is impressed with your urbanity _Thank you Yuuto-kun_ That's quite alright imaginary Moto-kun.

"This is delicious." Kiba said mildly.

Koneko nodded a little, and smiled victoriously. Rias cooed a little before snapping her head back to him. " _Speak."_

It's not a raiding party." Kiba said immediately.

Rias narrowed her eyes seriously. "Explain."

Kiba's thoughts were already racing. He'd arrived at the conclusion - _but he had no idea how he'd gotten there_. Think, think, what sort of person is Freed Sellzen?

Well, certainly he acted as though he were mad. Raving and ranting, killing on a whim and shouting as though he wished the whole world might hear it. But he acted carefully and methodically, and rarely allowed himself to be cornered. He was a priest, and for all his faults he certainly took that seriously, and he loathed devils with a frighteningly intelligent coldness.

Thus, the question now became 'Is Freed Sellzen insane or not?'.

If he was insane...then he would certainly fail to keep the terms of the unspoken accord. To place his pride over the value of their deaths...such dogma is certainly «madness» in it's own right. A kind of selfishness beyond the boundaries of good sense. Freed Sellzen certainly had the capacity to be such a man.

Nothing would be safe. He could attack at any time and any moment.

When he and Freed had fought, there was an understanding, that such acts would only be committed under the moonlight. Neither would jeopardize the waking world so long as it never infringed upon them.

But if Freed Sellzen was mad, then such understandings had been only in his head. The people that knew where he was would be a threat to his sneak attacks. Issei Hyoudou was certainly already a dead man, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

It would be a bloodbath.

Thus, let us proceed as though Freed Sellzen were sane.

And a sane man would not attack an isolated target like that, with little potential gain, unless...

"He was staking his territory." Kiba said slowly. He thought back to the sign of the man, crouched at a windowsill with binoculars, looking over the wall at Kuoh Academy. "It's not a raiding party. They're here to stay. They want to take Kuoh, without touching the legal bounds of the armistice."

Rias's eyes turned flinty. "Akeno."

The tall young woman stood abruptly. "Yes, President?"

"Call Sona." Rias's knuckles tightened to whiteness around her teacup. "We have work to do." She turned to Kiba. "When the Council gets here, you need to tell us _everything_ you saw."

Kiba nodded slowly, already spinning a tale in his mind. Outside, a gust of wind blew leaves high into the air, sending them a-whirl and casting them high into the sky.

It would be a long time before Freed Sellzen could act as he pleased, Kiba knew. The Council entered the room, familiar faces one and all, and as they arranged themselves around the table he began his tale. Grand it was, full of subtlety and derring-do and mischief. Entirely fabricated, of course, but watching the leaves fall, Kiba felt very little in the way of guilt. He needed time. A young woman starred in his tale, bold, capricious and brave; Kiba mourned her escape with a deft touch and a tear. One of Sona's girls, Reya, looked touched, so Kiba made her death an extra tragic one. Koneko applauded him. Did she suspect? Likely; she followed him distantly on occasion, to make sure he was safe. He gave himself a pet cat that bravely distracted the pewbound hordes in the church, and from her twitching ears she was pleased.

He continued to run his mouth, in a manner that emulated Matsuda-kun. He was the best liar of the group and always made sure to embellish excessively to keep people drawn in. Kiba was always somewhat impressed, when he did that. It certainly seemed to work, though Rias seemed to be tearing up for alternative reasons. What, he couldn't deduce.

The tale ran endlessly on his tongue, and _most_ of it would even check out from Ise's experiences. It seemed that Kiba wasn't a bad liar.

Lying.

Kiba wasn't sure he liked it. He needed - _no_ he _wanted_ to protect his friends, but the thought of endangering his peerage for such a reason...

He couldn't do that.

Instead, he made sure to add a bold and handsome blonde exorcist-cum-traitor-cum-messenger who revealed the growing threat after Kiba appealed to his conscience via a morally impassioned speech.

They bought it, turning grave and discussing the danger. Akeno was even visibly moved as she discussed something in a hushed undertone with Tsubasa. Hah, more fool them. Exorcists had no conscience _or_ morals.

Oddly enough, the only person entirely unmoved was Saji Genshirou. Kiba elevated his opinion of the young man. Perhaps they could be friends as well...? A thought for another time.

Kiba ended his story quietly, allowing the growing discussion to simply wash him out. Instead he turned idle eyes back to outside, watching the world pass by.

It would be cold soon, Kiba thought slowly. He should remind his friends to bundle up.

Quietly, a pleased little smile crossed his lips.

* * *

**1 month later**

"Quick, use the goddamn circle!" Motohama hissed.

"Alright, alright!"

Issei hurriedly ducked and seized the tiny paper from his pocket, hurling it at the floor.

It poofed into a great cloud of smoke, from which Kiba emerged. "That was sooner than I expected, why-"

Issei dove for his right leg, clutching it. "Save us."

Motohama went for the left, and Matsuda doubled up on it.

"Save us."

"It's scary." Matsuda added.

"Really scary."

"Big scary."

Issei peeked up, and from where he was lying, and despite the polite smile on Kiba's face, could make out a throbbing vein on his neck.

"What are you eve- _oof._ " He wheezed as the small shadow buried itself in his gut, the snarling little demon gleefully trying to carve it out. Having seen what it could do to trees, Issei briefly worried that he'd offed his meatshield, offset by an odd relief that at least he'd outlasted Kiba.

But no, Kiba straightened slowly, uninjured, and seized the gremlin by the throat. He raised it to eye level, other hand also coming up to- _wham._

 _wham_ "Really now-" _wham_ "-why are-" _wham_ "-you lot-" _wham_ "-always like _this."_ _wham_

He sighed breezily, bloody fist lowering, as the pulped mass of gremlin in his left twitched spasmodically.

His fist tightened on its body like toothpaste, popping its head off and sending the innards flying.

Motohama slowly raised one open hand, shaking it at the heavens. "I sense a great unresolved tension in your backstory." He intoned slowly.

Kiba glanced at him, blood still splattered all over his face, and they stopped snickering.

Rolling his eyes, Kiba gently nudged the boys aside, walking past them to where several more of the little gremlins peeked out from behind little cabinets and blinds. Their vicious grins faltered as Kiba unerringly spotted them, and shifted from walking to a dead sprint. The den exploded into contralto screams and the sound of wood slamming as Kiba seized a straight-backed wooden chair and swung it bodily into the largest cluster of them behind a table lamp.

The chair shattered, the imps diving out from behind the lamp with little wings buzzing like hummingbirds, screaming with exaggerated mouths and long black fingernails reaching to gouge at the blond boy. Kiba ducked below the swarm, letting them fly harmlessly past before snapping a leg up and _kicking_ one out of the air. It went sailing, impacting the ceiling with a wet _crunch_.

Issei winced.

The rest of the swarm howled their anger, swinging around in a great loop and picking up more of their brethren as they turned their focus entirely on Kiba. This time, they moved even faster, rushing him like a great mass of 6-inchhornets. They surrounded him, diving in to claw at his face and clinging to his hair, growing bolder and bolder until the boy's features was entirelyobscured behind purple flesh and flailing limbs.

Matsuda and Motohama looked on blankly, but Issei slowly rose to a half-crouch, ready to rush in if...well, if Kiba died or something maybe. He'd getthe body out, at least. Maybe. Did devil's even have corpses? That would be kinda weird, right?

But before he could move, the mass of gremlins bulged slightly. Some red lightly quickly swelled, somewhere deep in the mass something grew.

Then it burst, a great mass of flame exploding out and swirling about the blonde boy. Where the gremlins once flew was nothing but ash and charred bodies, slowly drifting to earth. Kiba's glowing eyes revealed themselves behindsomething that shone silver between his teeth, before that too vanished. In the absence of the brilliant flame, the home was once more cast into shadow, flakes drifting all about Kiba as a warm breeze gusted past them, sending their hair swirling and clothes briefly a-flutter.

The standoff lasted until Motohama coughed. "Matsuda."

"What?" Matsuda hissed. He was following the ash with his head, chin slowly lowering to touch his chest as he absently stared at the ash that had erupted from the air.

"Say something."

"What? No. Look how angry he looks. You say something."

"Fuck that."

"Bitch."

"Pussy."

Motohama gave up, turning around abruptly. "Issei, you say something."

Issei jumped a bit, startled, still blinking away the hot flash from his eyes. "Hold on." Isseiconcentrated, before lapsing. "No good, I can't contain my resentment. Even covered in blood he's more handsome than us. I know he's kind of our friend now but I still kinda hate him. Can we just find a way to quietly off him? We could be _real_ respectful at the funeral."

Motohama and Matsuda traded looks. "You're welcome to try. Those mysterious fairies sure couldn't, and we failed to beat _them_."

Issei and Kiba briefly looked down at the bloody sacks of demonflesh. Their eyes protruded slightly from under their stony brows, inch-long horns inplace of eares curving up and over their hairless scalps. One of their purple hands twitched, nude and hairless body crumpled and broken under the furious assault.

 _Fairies,_ Kiba wondered, the question dancing inhis eyes. _These?_

One sputtered a bit, vomiting bile and worse over it's distended gut. Kiba's expression continued to sour. His left hand twitched a bit, still wrapped around one of the little imp's, two fingers going fully around it's little gullet. He shook it a bit with mystified eyes. It dripped, a little.

"Sorry to interrupt." Kiba raised the corpse of the gremlin. "Motohama, Matsuda, can you see this?"

"No." "Not at all."

Kiba blinked and slowly turned to Issei, who shot him a thumbs up. "Sure can."

He turned back to Motohama and Matsuda with a lost look.

They shrugged.

"How..." Kiba tried. "How are you trying to beexorcists if only _one_ of you can see your culprits?" He absently kicked at the one still drowning in it's own filth.

"We're banking on absorbing _yin chakra_ from all these dead ghoulies." Motohama pushed up his glasses. "We were told that was how it worked."

"That's not how it works."

"Well shit." Motohama turned to Matsuda. "Back to the spirit goggles plan." Matsuda nodded firmly, reading into his pack to pull out three aviator goggles, slightly stained red and scuffed up.

"I don't like the spirit goggles plan." Issei whined, eyeing the goggles a touch warily.

"Shut up and bleed, these lenses won't coat themselves."

"Wait." Kiba raised a hand, fighting back a throbbing between his eyes. "Why do you _want_ to see the demons?"

"Why do I want to see them." Matsuda asked slowly.

"Yes."

"Why do I want to see the face-eating fairies filling this home top to bottom."

"Well." Kiba hedged. "Being able to see them, means drawing their attention. It's dangerous."

"More dangerous than the murderous demonoids literally all around us."

"Well, yes." Kiba said. "You're better off going without. Most people never interact with them for their whole lives. Just walk away, and you'll be fine; they have no reason to follow you. They're more interested in the home, and in all likeliness will move along soon enough."

"Wait." Motohama cut in gently. "So what you're saying to us, is to just not worry about it, despite the fact that we're potentially inches from death at any time. At _all_ times."

"Lay back and think of home." Kiba soothed. "Just let it happen. Let the world wash over you."

"I support this." Issei raised a hand.

"Shut up idiot." Motohama stripped off one long rubber glove and flung it at Issei's face, who failed to catch it and sputtered as it caught on his face.

"We were _paid_ for this gig, remember idiot?"Matsuda huffed, tossing aside a crystal windchime that hung from a belt loop. "No backing down now." Issei winced as the delicate affair shattered with a loud _crash_ , shards and fragments sent spinning and flying past. A streak of hot blood appeared on Kiba's blank expression, stained like ink on a blank page, but he seemed not to care.

"Gig? Is this not your home, Matsuda-san?"

Matsuda looked around and barked a short laugh. "Oh god no. It's Kiryuu's." He kicked at a dark wood endtable vindictively, only looking guilty when it scuffed the floor a bit, sliding back a bit. "And we're not here exactly _willingly_."

* * *

"A fujoshi is the bravest sort of person." Aika Kiryuu said somberly. "We're always willing to back down and give up their love so a more beautiful romance may sprout. Our whole lives are a sacrifice, and I _will_ go to any lengths for their happiness. Kind of like writing fanfiction. Your life exists to support a superior existence." She wiped away a proud tear, turning away slightly. "God I'm so _noble_."

Issei politely applauded.

"Now go away."

Kiryuu folded her arms. "Didn't you hear me? _Any lengths_ , Hyoudou. Not until you accept my terms."

Issei began slowly massaging his forehead, trying to tune out the dunces laughing uproariously behind him.

"One." Kiryuu flicked out a finger. "Stop dating Kiba. Two, never speak to-"

"Stop." Issei thrust an arm out. "Hold on. Go back to number one."

"One, stop-"

" _Don't actually say it_."

Aika rolled her eyes. "Look, just cause _everyone knows-"_

"Who the _fuck_ is 'everyone'?!"

"Everyone." She repeated imperiously. Hanagata-chan turned around and waggled her fingers at him from the second row. Her horrid friends began giggling. Dread began to grow in his gut; the acoustics in this classroom may have been a mite more impressive than he'd ever realized...

"We're not _dating_." Issei spat defensively. His eyes darted back and forth. Taking in his classmates, taking in their moods; Issei's concern only grew as he took in how _many_ girls were currently giggling for unknown reasons. More than were supposed to be in this class, for sure.

Motohama and Matsuda began laughing harder. The bald one fell out of his seat.

Aika sighed. "You hang out. You call each other by your first names. You've gone to get food together." She placed her hands on her hips. "You're basically having _sex in public_ at this point."

"What kind of equivalency is that?! It doesn't even make sense! And anyway, I do that with the wonder twins-" a thumb jabbed backwards. "-as well!"

"Oh Issei." Kiryuu patronized. "The difference is that girls _like_ Kiba."

The wonder twins stopped laughing.

"You _boys_ may _think_ it's platonic normal friendship, but girls recognize romance when we _see_ it."

Issei could taste the ashes of his social cred. Matsuda winced.

"It's _love_ , I tell you. Can't you even tell how a _man_ feels?" She continued ruthlessly.

" _I'm_ a man, you realize." Issei pointed out weakly.

She shot him a disparaging look. Issei wilted.

* * *

"But why are you _here_?" Kiba asked awkwardly.

"Oh right." Motohama snapped his fingers. "We're being blackmailed. One of Kiryuu's friends saw us running around asking about demon stuff, so Kiryuu told us that if we didn't check and see if her house was haunted, she'd spread rumors."

"Rumors."

Matsuda shuddered. "Don't ask. Suffice to say, her house is _super_ haunted. Can't even blame her at this point."

"I can." Issei muttered plaintively.


	18. Issei Hyoudou is gullible (Part I)

Yuuto Kiba paced quietly through the dark house, waiting for danger to come to him. There was no shortage of it, he knew, as the shadows flickered down a dusty hall stripped bare of tapestry.  
  
There were _no_ pictures.  
  
The stark offset between where frames had been hung and not spoke to some of what had happened. How slapdash the exit from this home had been. He reached out and allowed one hand to trail from the splintered hole where a nail or pushpin had been wrenched out, down the line of flaking paint scuffed and stained with age.  
  
He wondered, were there any pictures of _him_ that someone might brave the unknown to rescue and keep?  
  
Wallowing in his thoughts, Kiba proceeded down the small hallway. The floor was firm underfoot, and he marked off a minute as he allowed himself to sink into a looser stance.  
  
A flicker. A dance of flame in the corner of his eye, and he swayed aside as a heavy _mass_ whistled past. It burst against the wall, a wet, ripe pop as it sprayed filth and worse unercut the sharp _crack_ of its impact against splintered wood.  
  
The source perched, stupefied, atop a small bannister, perhaps wondering how it had missed with what mental faculties it could draw upon. Kiba snarled noiselessly, pulling on the churning ratchet inside him to _respond_ , whispering his desire. With a feeling rather like pleasure, the tension in his gut spilled free, and he pulled the burning blade forth, already swinging. The blade was soundless save for the sharp whip-crackle of the bound flame being fed, sharply brightening as it consumed the air and bit into warm cursed flesh as Kiba swung in a great arc, searing and ripping into the gremlin. It screamed a tinny whistle before the burning torch Kiba held steady to it heightened to a fever pitch, and any flesh left crumbled to ash.  
  
He winced as the blade left a sharp scorch on the paneling. Hopefully, no one noticed.  
  
<Sword Birth> was a messy gear, an industrious mass of pistons that churned ceaselessly and pointlessly within, begging him to spawn more and more of the accursed weapons. There was no artistry to his creations, no metaphor or symbolism. The flame blade he drew upon was simply that; a crackling mass, flickering and popping within the tight bounds he permitted. They longed to escape his will, his rebellious children. Given leash they would spread the world over, weapons of war that called to men of similar disposition and unleash havoc.  
  
They served well enough, Kiba supposed. Really, they weren’t all that inspiring. All they ensured was the barest advantage to him, the convenience of a general-purpose masterkey for every lock he’d ever encountered. Given their fairly strict limits, even that was impressive in a way.  
  
As ever, he could count only on himself.  
  
The hallway continued down, and he stalked through it, the slightest flutter drawing his eye. More than once he tore down a curtain or threw back a cushion for naught, muscles tense and waiting.  
  
Another red eye flickered in the dark, but even before he saw it, the smell of mildew and rot breezed past him and this time he knew to dive for it, little eyes widening as he brought the blade down on its head. It rolled aside, swinging for his face with something clutched in it’s apelike hands, and it tore at his cheek as it flew past. His retaliatory thrust was instinctive and took it through the chest. It struggled valiantly before going limp, thrashing and squeaking, but the silence took hold eventually.  
  
Kiba raised a hand to his throbbing cheek and pulled it away damp. He licked his finger and wiped at the cut. He didn’t like that it had harmed him. It spoke poorly of his readiness. His Sensei would have his head for this, had he witnessed.  
  
This wasn’t working. Kiba kept his head on a swivel, panning his eyes and hunching his shoulders. Even in such a small place, they managed to keep hidden. They were agitated now, rustling a little; they knew they had been found, and it was a matter of time. Kiba turned back to the little one at the end of his blade, peeled it off gently and observed it further. He traced the red crest that ran along its horns, peeled back the skinlike cover it had in place of lips in front of its teeth. He lifted it’s lids and stared deep into it’s dull irises, peeled back its fingernails and studied the black blood dripping from it’s exposed inner flesh, and finally paused in surprise.  
  
Then he smiled.  
  


* * *

  
Dark. It was dark in the hallway, the little gremlins saw. The burning light was gone. They skittered from windowsills and cracks in the ceiling, out of the dark corners of the home and once again in search of their ephemeral goal. But this time, as they approached that central corridor, they saw a light. Where the previous one had been hungry, reaching out to them with burning wisps, this was was warm. A gentle glow, one that soothed.  
  
Kiba kept the embrous fuming of his blade to a minimum, casting it’s harsh glow hardly a foot from his face. His night vision was supernaturally good, but these creatures were ambush predators: they were drawn to light, heat, and movement, and thus a devil would normally pass by unmolested and unawares. Thus, he kept his ‘lure’ bobbing, hissing a little in the quiet.  
  
All that stood between him and danger was a long, quiet hallway. But he finally understood what would be waiting on the other end.  
  
They approached, one at a time, reaching for the warmth of his blade. One by one, he let them and watched as the fire consumed them whole. They crawled forward, almost instinctively, but there was a desperate, needy quality to how their limbs carried them forwards to their death.  
  
Kiba began to move, forwards. The little creatures may have been tempted by the blade, but it was what they’d been searching for that drew them here to begin with. He followed the flow, the thickest concentration, and continued moving towards his unseen goal. That was how he found them, clustered like flies, surrounding a door so thickly infested it looked solid.  
  
Once more, the flames licked forth. This time, not a single one responded. They held fast to the door, shivering their little bodies and gripping so tightly to the wood it splintered.  
  
Kiba stepped past the bodies, twitching, and carefully unlocked the door, stripping them from the knob like scum on soap. They gathered about the doorsill, as though they might still crawl inside, and perhaps on instinct he gently pushed them away with his foot before stepping inside.  
  
The room was as barren as the rest, a lightly stained mattress left on a frame in the place of honor. The closet was left open. The floor was bare. The walls were empty and painted a thin pink. And a single shattered nightstand lay in pieces, scattered apart.  
  
A frame caught his eye, nestled face-down on the table, and with some surprise, Kiba realized it was the first frame he’d seen. It was the first decoration he’d seen at all. Taking a hand off the hilt of his blade, he quickly reached out and flipped it up, allowing it to lean against the wall as he took it in. A girl with long braided hair smiled innocently back at him.  
  


* * *

  
“Ise.”  
  
Issei jumped a foot in the air, landing heavily on Matsuda, who screamed and dove headfirst into a wall. Stumbling and tripping over their tangled legs, Issei felt his momentum carry him forward, sending him headfirst into the wall beside Matsuda.  
  
Motohama lazily reclined, allowing his back to bump into the opposite screen. “Yo, handsome.” Motohama said, waving slightly. “You assault someone else?”  
  
“This is a grave misrepresentation of my actions.” Kiba refuted mildly, frowning as he pulled the sliding door closed behind him and stepped quickly inside to the family room. It was cozy, warm colors and a dark wooden desk dominating the space.  
  
“I think not. That face is an attack on my future, you know. Rude of you to go around flashing it. Wear a mask or something.”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
Motohama shrugged, and swiftly kicked into Matsuda’s groaning sides, who screamed and fell flat.  
  
“Get up idiots. I can’t deal with this guy on my own. It’s exhausting.”  
  
Matsuda dribbled a bit onto the floor.  
  
“I don’t wanna.” Issei groaned. “He’s scary. You do it.” He curled up a bit into himself and continued furiously rubbing the top of his head, where it felt like a spike of agony drilled it’s way between his ears.  
  
Kiba walked around their tangled limbs, still moving like a breeze in the night, utterly silent as he strode around them casually until he stopped beside Issei. Reaching down, he casually reached down, and roughly tore off another of the little gremlins, making Issei scream as a bit of his hair ripped out with it.  
  
“Ah! My hair! It goddamn hurts!” He squealed, tears dripping from his eyes. “It hurts man! Murase praised that hair you know?! It’s my defining feature!”  
  
Kiba tossed the little gremlin from hand-to-hand. A vein seemed to pulse slightly in his neck, though his smile was as teflon as ever.  
  
“It builds character, Ise.”  
  
Ise whimpered. “You see this guy Motohama?! He assaulted me! He’s acting like it’s my fault! I can’t read his expression through my tears man, tell me if he looks guilty.”  
  
Motohama observed the blonde boy. Kiba stared back impassively, dull green eyes boring into him.  
  
“Yep.” said Motohama.  
  
“Ah, good.”  
  
The little gremlin made a sound like a tire deflating from Kiba’s hands. “Indeed. I do apologize, Ise- _kun_ , if I’ve hurt your feelings at all. I’ve simply been focused on rooting out the infestation.”  
  
Matsuda saluted from where he lay fetal. “We’ve been safely standing in place and touching nothing.”  
  
“Excellent work.” Kiba rolled his shoulders, and crouched down beside the two fallen heroes, still bouncing the gremlin hand-to-hand. “I meant to address that.”  
  
“We’re incapable of physical exertion.” Matsuda hurriedly assured. “We have no interest in moving a single step.”  
  
“And that’s a great thing.” Kiba oddly seemed to agree. “Wonderful, even Matsuda- _kun_. But what do you _know_ , about these things?” He snatched the dizzy gremlin by the ear and dangled it over Issei’s paling face. “How much do you know of what you’ve been sent to deal with?”  
  
“Literally nothing.” Motohama snorted. “We can’t even see the damn things, after all.”  
  
“Nono, I can see them, and I still have no idea.” Issei refuted.  
  
“ _I didn’t think so._ ” Kiba muttered. “They don’t often show up in places like this. Conceptually ordinary, but you don’t see them much.” Kiba flicked his thumb and tore its little throat out. Issei sick for a moment before he turned away, unable to stand Motohama and Matsuda staring blankly at Kiba’s hands. Kiba shook his head a little and used one finger to wipe up it’s blood, rubbing the substance between finger and thumb slowly.  
  
Issei leaned back as he offered his bloody finger to see, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
“Ise.” Matsuda said. “Open your eyes man.”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“No, seriously. You gotta see this. Even _I_ can see it.” Clothes rustled as he heard Matsuda shift himself. “What the _fuck_ is that.”  
  
Issei reluctantly opened his eyes, and peered down at the finger.  
  
 _Matsuda was right_. Intrigued, he prodded the substance on Kiba’s finger.  
  
“Are those words?” He asked despite himself. Jellylike, words floated atop Kiba’s fingers. They drifted in and out of focus even while Issei watched, thick and oozing and almost iridescent in a way. But whatever it was, sat heavily. He could almost hear the words drifting, the prayer of _please may this person find no peace in this life or the next_ echoing in the dead air.  
  
“ _This,_ ” Kiba shook the little gremlin a bit. “Is, very simply, an honest ‘wish for misfortune.’ An actualized curse for someone to simply be inconvenienced, to have no true peace and simply never feel a fulfilling joy, to simply ‘be unhappy’.” He rubbed the substance between his fingers. “Thus, they aren’t living beings. They’re those words come to life.”  
  
“These things could kill someone easily, couldn’t they?”  
  
Kiba nodded slowly. “It isn’t in their nature _per se_.” He said. “They exist to make people miserable. However, they will _never_ stop, so perhaps given enough time...”  
  
“One way or the other,” Issei muttered darkly. “It’ll come to an end. I get it.” He turned bitter eyes on his friends. “That’s premeditated.” Issei muttered. “That’s _cold_.  
  
Matsuda raised his hand, squinted a bit. “Hang on, hang on. I know you’re having a moment, but hold up. Words? All I see is, like, tar.”  
  
“Why is _that_ so interesting?” Issei asked irritably.  
  
“It’s _blue_ man.”  
  
“Nothing about what you said is rare in any way.” Motohama informed Kiba. “Except for the weird demon stuff. But resentment? Maybe not on whatever alien planet you come from where everyone shares ice-cream and sets their bike locks to 0000, but here we actually _do_ often wish the utmost misery on other people. All the time, even.”  
  
“Really?” Kiba looked oddly relieved. “I honestly hadn’t realized you wished someone misery so poignantly.”  
  
“Evidently not.” Motohama said bitterly. Matsuda reached over, and sympathetically patted him on the shins.  
  
“Regardless, that wouldn’t attract these little harbingers.” Kiba seized it by the skull, preventing it from struggling. It stilled between his hands. “I said ‘honest’ desire, did I not? It is a resentment truly void of self-deception and self-pity. It is an earnest and powerful desire.” He paused. “But not particularly malicious, or something far worse might have been called. It is also an exceptionally _petty_ resentment.”  
  
“I don’t get it-”  
  
“In this case.” Kiba cut in smoothly. “For something like this to happen to, say, _me-_ ”  
  
Motohama and Matsuda twitched. Violently.  
  
“-that person would need to genuinely accept that, for example,” Kiba’s lips thinly twitched. “That I am better looking than _them_ , admit _their_ inferiority, and truly understand _their_ relative place in the world.”  
  
Issei hiccuped a wet sob, feeling sympathy well up. Matsuda wiped away a lone tear.  
  
“Such a thing would be extremely difficult, nearly impossible.” Kiba continued. “Which is what makes their presence so impressive. Tell me, please.” His smile faded, and he looked at them solemnly. “Was Kiryuu Aika that sort of person? To call this kind of _loathing_ , upon her?”  
  
The three boys exchanged looks, and turned back to Kiba, firmly shaking their heads.  
  
“Not a chance.” Motohama rolled his shoulder a bit, uncomfortably. “She’s annoying yeah, but there’s no one that _dislikes_ her. Not a single person I’ve ever heard of or spoken to.”  
  
“Aika’s honest.” Matsuda said bluntly. “Well, I mean, she lies. A lot. But uh,” He scratched at his stubbled hair. “She’s honest in intent, I guess? She’ll say whatever she wants, but she’s always straightforward about her goals. She admits her weakness all the time. If she told us she was being stealth bullied, I could maybe buy it, but _this?_ ”  
  
Kiba nodded slowly. “I thought as much. _This_ confirms that, I suppose.”  
  
He placed a framed photo down, stand extended. Motohama slowly slid down the wall to sit and look at the photo beside the other two.  
  
“That.” Issei said after a moment, staring at the girl and her braided _blonde_ hair. “Is very much not Aika.”  
  
“I found it on a table near a room.” Kiba confirmed their thoughts implicitly. “A _girls_ room.”  
  
“Would you say,” Issei said with mounting dread. “That this photo _belonged_ to this house?”  
  
“It matches the furniture. Whoever it was that framed the photo, made sure to use an identical wood for the table it was on, as well as all the doors. Certainly coordinated. The little curses also homed in on the image, even from so far away that it would be impossible to even see it.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
“Well, they’re curses. Aimed at a particular person within a particular location. Their existences are quite literally tied to her; the only reason for them to be pulled to it is because it’s the image of their target. The only part of ‘her’ still here.”  
  
“Well.” Issei slowly shut his eyes. “Any chance we’re at the wrong address?”  
  
“I double checked.” Matsuda grunted. “It’s the one Aika gave us.”  
  
Motohama’s head thumped against the wall. “This isn’t Kiryuu’s house. She played us. We’re at some other girl’s house, playing exterminator.”  
  
“ _Honest_ my ass.” Issei muttered, glaring at Motohama.  
  
Motohama vibrated angrily in place. “That bitch!”  
  
TO BE CONTINUED


	19. Interlude: Philodox Disorganized

Kaede Kanna wore white to the funeral of her classmate.  
  
The sun had long set, but where the street outside had been bustling with Kuoh’s customary nightlife, the Funeral Hall was still. Very few had turned up to see the unfortunate in her time of last goodbyes, so the hall was uncharacteristically devoid of crowds when Kanna entered. Her pale skin blended into a long white dress, and the white ribbons bobbed over a hall violently clashing with her presence, massive black tiles checkerboarding across the floor and ceiling, held under rows of empty seats.  
  
It was heartbreakingly quiet inside, the mothers hands nearly bereft of black envelopes. Kanna’s hands were similarly empty, she noted with some vestigial shame. She wasn’t the only one. She doubted anyone would be eating either. No one wished to linger, to look at the body and pretend it had once been the girl they cared for. Even the school had made the announcement of her death a quiet affair. Not even the mother would dare say something with an atmosphere this heavy; she and everyone else was simply waiting for the painful reminders to end.  
  
Thus, Kanna stuck out, an odd duck among the black swans parading past the open casket. The garishness of her attire would see her thrown out had it been any other circumstance, but no one had the heart to even look at one another. The sparse attendees stood in solemn lines at the side, pointedly looking away from the dead girl, and by extension, her visitors. It spoke to the withering hope the mother held that it was a pathetically grateful look that greeted her entrance.  
  
It made Kanna anxious, but she couldn’t back down. It was important that she be here. Kanna strode through the hall, chin up but eyes darting. She wondered, did she look confident? Cool? Could people see her expression? The eyes seemed to follow her. They trailed up her body, and paused at her hands and throat. She felt it like a soothing heat, a balm to her fearful heart even as it stoked her worries.  
  
Kanna was unwatched, but felt terribly in focus.  
  
The casket itself was no damper; the notoriety of the body had not made the family less generous, indeed perhaps they intended to use _paper_ to mop up the stain. It was a magnificent arrangement, flowers piled to a meter high around the casket and it’s accoutrements. It was lit as though to approach was to step into some other world; pale, watery light shining down, a deceptively harsh glare. The casket alone was dark, a wood so amber it seemed to turn the lights to a warm honey. It was the warmest point in the whole room.  
  
There, Aoba Tomiko lay, clothes draped limply about her broken shoulders. The mother was kind indeed, to preserve the body _as found_. Just the way Aoba’s last note requested.  
  
The white dress swayed, clinging to the slim lines of Kanna’s body, and she noted distantly that sweat had drenched her clothes. She felt herself step faster, leaning forwards slightly, the casket a pull she couldn’t fight.  
  
But a pair of smooth leather shoes over a long stockings stood in the way.  
  
“Kiryuu.”  
  
The words were low, deceptively harsh for how mild Kanna’s voice, and came out something like a curse. Indeed, Aika Kiryuu stood between her and Aoba, hands on her hips and somber expression at odds with the almost reflexive curl to her lip.  
  
“Kanna.”  
  
Kanna felt herself grow tense at the thinly veiled anger buried under the word. Kiryuu had an ugly sort of voice, Kanna thought absently. High pitched and demanding. It grated. It felt wrong that it was here, in this place that was so distant from mortal concerns, like oil blossoming out onto the surface of the ocean. It stained the world around Kanna into ugly colors, ones she didn’t want to acknowledge here.  
  
“ _What are you doing here?_ ” Kanna whispered lowly, trying to avoid drawing undue attention. The few visitors continued to flow sparsely around them, pushing past with that casual rudeness associated with mourners and businessmen. Kanna found that it was just too awkward to meet Kiryuu’s eyes. Those opinionated eyes, always dancing, always prying peoples thoughts open and dangling them like bait before the whole school. She couldn’t stand them. While Kanna’s were an _almost_ beautiful mellow brown, Kiryuu’s far lighter eyes looked like they’d been drowned in pond scum. Diseased, poisoned by her thoughts.  
  
“Look, I don’t have time for this, okay?” Kanna muttered instead, trying to push past, but found there was no leeway. She tried again, but Kiryuu’s hand snaked out and seized her bicep with an iron grip. Kanna nearly cried out in shock, biting back the small tears that sprung up as she jerked her head up to finally look at the girl.  
  
Kiryuu’s hair had loosened from its usual side-braids, the cascading brown hair blocking the light and framing her face even more strongly. The light in her eyes was intense. And angry.  
  
“ _What happened._ ” Kiryuu hissed, pulling Kanna closer. Kanna leaned back and grunted, trying fruitlessly to pull herself from Kiryuu’s grasp. Her hands were clammy and cold on Kanna’s bare upper arms, but only continued to tighten, turning red and shaking a little from her tension. Kanna tried again to step back but Kiryuu followed her, keeping close and pressuring her back.  
  
“ _What the f-_ ”  
  
“Shut _up_.” Kiryuu spat, tightening her grip until Kanna’s words choked themselves off. She blinked past the reflexive spray of tears, catching Kiryuu shooting someone a tight smile as they passed. But she needn’t have bothered - their eyes slid right off.  
  
The smile dripped off Kiryuu’s face like egg, leaving tired stains lingering about the corners of her mouth and under her eyes. Kanna took a sharp breath as her grip briefly slacked, and only squeaked a little when her grip redoubled.  
  
“ _Answer me_.” Kiryuu muttered lowly.  
  
“I don’t know _anything_ , I’m here because Toko-sensei told us to!” Kanna squirmed a little, eyeing the people around the Wake. There were only a few adults loitering, but no one seemed to notice or step in. Relieved, she allowed her struggles to slow a little, to avoid drawing attention from the security, and almost missed the snarl of disgust from the taller girl.  
  
Kiryuu _shoved_ Kanna, making her stumble as her arm was suddenly freed, and continued applying force as she quickly shuffled Kanna towards the wall. Kanna let the momentum carry her into the surface, catching herself on it and whirling around, palms stinging and burning needles running down her arm. Kiryuu was standing there. She stood tall and confident, secure in her own actions, the ugly scent of her hypocrisy mantling her shoulders.  
  
The upwelling of resentful disgust was as expected as the urge to lash out. Kanna desperately fought back ugly words, fearing that Kiryuu would actually get violent. It was an important funeral, after all. Kanna had even worn white. She didn’t want to risk being kicked out before approaching the body. It galled her, but she continued keeping her gaze low, dreaming of a better day.  
  
Her shoulders pulled inwards as Kiryuu leaned forwards. “ _I know._ ” She breathed.  
  
The words were a jolt to her system, panic and fear coursing down her limbs and making them shake. Kanna’s head snapped up, but she tried to pass it off as a twitch. She leaned back, letting her head loll against the wall as she tried her damndest to look down at Kiryuu from her nose.  
  
“ _I know you did something_.” Kiryuu’s eyes never left hers, darting from ear to ear, scanning her motion and tells. Kanna held herself still, and tried to present a feeling of innocent bewilderment, telling herself over and over that Kiryuu hadn’t sensed her panic. There was no way.  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Kanna said quietly, blood pounding in her veins. The frustration was literally making her shake. “Are you crazy, pulling this kind of thing at a _funeral_?”  
  
Kiryuu leaned in with a grim expression. “I saw you follow Aoba the day she died. I _know you were with her._ ”  
  
Fear made Kanna’s knees weak. It made her heart pound and her vision swim.  
  
It made her _angry._  
  
“ _Hey Kanna._ ” Kiryuu whispered in her ear. “ _Aoba’s hair was blonde. Why’s your hair blonde?_ ”  
  
“I dyed it.” Kanna grunted, forcefully nudging the redhead aside to push past. Her sleeve tore a bit as it caught on a protruding bit of wood, but Kanna’s haste to move past Kiryuu made it a trivial concern.  
  
“Funny.” Kiryuu said, leaning back and letting Kanna pass. “Odd time to dye your hair, on the eve of a death.”  
  
“Don’t be an idiot. You know why people haven’t come to see the body, right?” Kanna met her eyes at last. “She was _scalped,_ Kiryuu. I dyed my hair in respect.”  
  
Kiryuu was the first to look away, and the ugly grimace flashing across her face was Kanna’s victory. The irritation was in every line of Kiryuu’s body, and she faltered in her stance, enough that Kanna could brush her entirely aside. Striding away quickly, Kanna wanted to crow her victory, but something in her whispered that this hadn’t ended. Kiryuu wasn’t done with her. It was the same instinct that pressured her to turn around, and stop walking unconsciously.  
  
Kiryuu stood there for a long moment, expression shaded behind hair curtaining her face, and fists tightly clenched.  
  
Kanna blinked and the moment was gone. And so was Kiryuu, already moving out of the way with her head hung low.  
  
Kanna wasn’t one to waste time now that Kiryuu was properly distracted, and a glance back only revealed the girl finally stalking to a seat. She had the pick of the litter; the grieving had moved on to greener pastures, and it didn’t seem like Kanna had any other classmates paying an impromptu and very inconvenient visit. And yet, even Kiryuu couldn’t take the pressure, choosing to sit far, far back where a few mourners lingered out of the harsh light cast on the coffin.  
  
Kanna was finally alone with the body, attention slowly drawn back to the cool wood shining slickly in the light.  
  
She approached slowly now, attention fully absorbed. She clapped her hands as she approached, three times, and silently prayed; something like anticipation was curling in her gut. She looked around carefully one more time; no one was looking. The dead girl was misfortune incarnate, so no one wanted to look too closely. Not even the grieving mother, who carried out her dead daughter’s postmortem wishes regardless.  
  
And if their own parents couldn’t stand them, what did it _mean_ that Kanna hated her classmates? It was a fact, like rain or shine. Kanna found herself utterly blameless in her emotions, and it freed her. Freed her to _act_.  
  
Kanna went to Kuoh Academy, where being a girl was a real challenge; it wasn’t _easy_ going to a school renowned for its beautiful young women. Her classmates, even at their ugliest, could grace a magazine or two. Himari looked like she’d never _heard_ of acne, or even visible pores. Even Hikari had a chin like a snowbank, gentle and smooth, forming shapely arcs that trailed down her long neck to her exposed collarbone.  
  
Kanna was merely an almost-lovely young girl. She’d had brownish locks curling about a practically heart shaped face, flawed clear tawny eyes that nearly pierced your soul, and a barely misshapen neck, the kind you almost wanted to kiss.  
  
Aoba was lovelier still. A slim face with high cheekbones, she was the sort of girl that looked like she was born to the casual authority she’d held among her playmates. Her hair and features made her exotic, a draw wherever she went. When they were open, Aoba’s eyes were limpid and doelike, bluer than the sky after a good rain.  
  
But the body was neither. It was pale and still and cold in ways that made its elastic skin look rubber and its long lashes wilt. The arms bent oddly and the clothes sat ill-fitting on a chest that caved too far into the abdomen. Long cuts ran up the arms, burst flesh lovingly sown together. It was a solemn, disgraceful death, and not even the hastily applied makeup could hide the raw red flesh stretching across her skull, bereft of ornamentation or regard.  
  
But there was more to it than that. The body-that-was-Aoba was still beautiful, because it, or rather _she_ still had so much to offer. For the first time in her life, Aoba was doing her a kindness. An honest-to-god favor. Kanna had fought tears the entire time she’d done up her now-blonde hair, the gratefulness bubbling up, and now she was giving the rest of her away. She’d saved Kanna from herself - or so she felt.  
  
Aoba...perhaps hadn’t been so bad. Even Kanna’s edits to her ‘last will’ had been kindly accepted. To the end, she’d been simply no trouble at all, and Kanna had gained so _much_ in exchange!  
  
Kanna was grateful. She wished Aoba could hear it. She whispered a _thank you_ into the coffin, allowing a tear to roll down her face, while her hand quietly snaked inside.  
  
She hoped Aoba would hear it, wherever she was now. She found her steps light and her heart clear.  
  
Kaede Kanna wore white to the funeral of her classmate and quietly stole her trophy away.  
  
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Kaede Kanna sat in the back of class. She looked at no one and spoke to nobody. She sat on the side nearer the door and kept her head down in her books at lunch.  
  
But her eyes were always moving, darting from face to face, person to person. There was so _much_ to look at, so much to take in. She was captivated, day after day. Look at enough people, Kanna learned, and the idea of what a ‘human’ looked like started to break down. They fell apart, like shambles, into independent, often _dissonant_ pieces. A mouth that jawed warmly beneath cold eyes that darted about shiftily. Each told their own story, and once you learned to see them, it was hard to stop. You stopped taking in a person as a whole, and started taking in their features. A nose started to grow prominent in your vision when you looked at Taro-san, for example, something that was always there but your mind started to filter out. He simply became ‘Taro-san’, and his face was as much a part of his identity as his thumb. It always surprised Kanna, when she looked at Taro-san long enough. How easily you grew used to his face.  
  
It was impressive, considering how _ugly_ the boy was.  
  
His eyes were subtly off balance, and the mole under his eye _really was_ just _that_ large. And his nose must dominate an entire _quarter_ of his vision! She wondered, what did Taro-san see, when he looked in the mirror? Did he realize? Did he _know_?  
  
She was like that once. Unknowing.  
  
Then one day, she woke up with eyes of the deepest blue, that curved like the moon, double lidded and tapered off into the loveliest little point, set high on her face. They were _perfect_ eyes. She went to school that day, head held high and eyes wide so that everyone could appreciate her defining feature. She’d walked proudly, finally comfortable doing so, but found herself occupied with unexpected thoughts upon arriving to school. She’d wished she could help him then, which startled her rather badly. She’d wished she could help those unfortunate, and for the briefest moment gave it true consideration. Poor Taro-san, she’d thought!  
  
How unutterably shocking! That _she_ would be a humanitarian at heart!  
  
Then she remembered that holding her head up revealed her relatively _squashed_ neck, the one a little too squat and short to be pretty. It didn’t match her eyes at all. They were too pretty to be in such a flawed frame. She was hardly complete enough to be doing something as stupid as helping someone else _yet_. She shuddered, and resumed firmly staring at the dirt. She kept her eyes wide open though, in case someone shorter wandered by.  
  
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“Interesting. She’ll start casing the next one soon.” Vali muttered, gently wiping his fingers off. Some trash stray had wandered by, and he had time to kill. He chalked it up to his good deed for the day; it also had the side benefit of removing the chance that the Gremory Princess would notice the mutt, and in the process of hunting it down pick up on him. _Oh_ , how he cursed a dragon’s propensity for misfortune. It would be _just_ his luck.  
  
He wasn’t scared of her, mind you, but he needed more time. He hadn’t found _him_ yet, his target. But there was a chance his new lead would lead him there. Dragons always got involved in such things; this one was strong enough that Red might be pulled in, like it or not. All Vali had to do was wait and watch.  
  
And _how_. He’d ended up chancing across something interesting, hadn’t he? He hadn’t been able to help it when the request had come to him, he’d followed the target outlined and ended up seeing something _interesting_.  
  
Yes, his new lead was all kinds of strange.  
  
Sacred Gears were a fairly exotic topic of research, but he’d heard enough of Azazel’s drunken lectures to recognize a subspecies when he saw it. A wholly unique fork off a formerly rather subpar gear. Either _her_ will was mediocre, or the gear _itself_ possessed ego enough to influence the shape. But from what he’d seen, it was some melding of both. A wholly symbiotic sort of growth, like toxic vines tangling, poisoning each other into a pleasurable stupor, all the while feeding off their victim in harmony.  
  
Really, it was somewhat saccharine. Vali nearly shed a tear.  
  
“Really?” Le Fay peered over his shoulder, and for one brief, misbegotten moment he nearly wished it was Kuroka. Because when Le Fay leaned over, her _bright goddamn blue cloak_ whirled around so strongly it could’ve been interpreted in semaphore. He might as well have signalled the pedestrians with a whistle.  
  
Vali carefully breathed in, out, and gently nudged her back from the edge.  
  
Le Fay peered at him curiously, blinking guilelessly, but continued anyway. “She seemed happy to me sir. She was showing off, you know? Would she really _want_ to commit another crime?”  
  
Vali squinted a bit. “You're missing the point. Look at her.” He reached back, and gently placed his hand on her head, exerted the slightest pressure until she got the idea and ducked down. Peering over the parapet, she looked down at the girl named Kaede brush past someone without noticing. A startling difference from not a week prior, when she’d apologized for getting dust on someone’s shoe.  
  
“It’s not that she's avoiding them.” Morgan said, the difference dawning. “It’s not about showing off. Heck, it has nothing to do with _other people_ at all.”  
  
“The victims don't register.” Vali murmured. “She hasn’t realized. She thinks her goal fuels her need. But every time, she’ll grow more unsatisfied with the result. She’ll want more. It’s about the act itself.”  
  
“You’re saying this isn’t a robbery investigation.”  
  
“She’s the most literal example of a gain killer I’ve ever seen. We have a budding little serial killer in our hands.”  
  
“But her victims are...”  
  
“Not to her. Even _if_ they’re still walking around afterwards, well, they aren't even the same person anymore are they? She’s done with them, and in a sense, the gear just ensures there’s no body afterwards.”  
  
Morgan hesitated. Had Vali turned to look, he’d have seen the hesitance, the disgust in her blue eyes, before she swallowed it down. “How can we tell?”  
  
Vali’s eyes narrowed, still peering over the edge. “Her first. The gears respond to desire; she couldn’t have known what she really wanted until she had the chance to try. She couldn’t have even known it was possible.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“This started with a body. At the root of this, there is definitely a dead body.” Vali slowly stood. “That’s what’ll tell us how useful she really is. That’ll tell us if she’s any use at all.”  
  
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Kanna loved crowds.  
  
Wandering into odd tea shops was an odd way to express this, but then Kanna reserved the right to indulge herself even in the pursuit of greater things.  
  
And _how_.  
  
“See something you like?” The girl offered with a wry grin, her throat flashing itself seductively.  
  
“Not really.” Kanna said honestly. She didn’t really pay much attention to the poor girl’s words. Her voice was a little too pitchy for Kanna’s taste, and she’d opened with an aside about Boba allergies. Kanna, a girl of _class_ , had never even _heard_ of Boba, and why this simply seemed to offend the young woman Kanna would never understand.  
  
But Kanna played along, because she enjoyed this. Kanna was a little shy, you see. She didn’t really ever strike up conversations with strangers. This one even seemed nice; and that put Kanna at ease. She was offering so _much_ of herself to Kanna too. That had to mean something. It had to be something special.  
  
Kanna _wanted_ it to mean something special.  
  
She was the only one that would remember, of the two. It was a sad thing. The other would go off on their life, leaving the best of them with Kanna. She would become something more and the girl would become something less, and this girl deserved _thanks_ for that sacrifice. So Kanna played along, a little smile dancing about her lips as she tried to take in everything about this girl that would culminate in the short time they spent together.  
  
“My eyes are up here, you know.”  
  
Kanna hummed in understanding.  
  
“I suppose.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Her neck the next day arched like a swan, and Kanna preened proudly, making sure her weak chin and low cheekbones were accentuated by her makeup.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Someone bumped into Kanna. She scanned their face and dismissed it in a matter of seconds, whispering an apology and pushing past.  
  
She continued on her way after a second, only pausing for a second when what she’d done computed.  
  
Why hadn’t she been polite? How strange. Normally, Kanna would just mutter under her breath and step aside. This was positively _aggressive_ of her.  
  
She half-turned back to look at the boy who’d bumped into her.  
  
He looked...small, from this distance. She watched his back recede, and found it wasn’t as unpalatable a sight as she might’ve found it not a few days past.  
  
She slowly turned back to the front, and offered someone a toothy grin as they passed.  
  
They looked back, slightly uncomfortable, and offered her a tremulous smile. Kanna felt oddly warmed by this.  
  
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Kanna stared down at the football field. People were running reps, dribbling back and forth. Most had eyes only for Yuuto Kiba, who managed to make sweating look desireable.  
  
Kanna had eyes only for the boy beside him, a long-haired thin-lipped specimen who looked positively gangly in comparison. His name was Tooru.  
  
He looked up and saw her looking at him, and offered her an awkward wave. She waved back, slightly more energetically. Kanna bit at her lips a little.  
  
She’d approached him a few days prior and he’d been...receptive. It wasn’t the first time she’d spoken to a boy, but it was certainly the first time any had shown _interest_. She found herself adopting some of Aoba’s mannerisms in the process, smiling and even laughing a little, and he’d looked _happy_.  
  
She hadn’t _realized_.  
  
Tooru was waiting for her when she made it down the embankment, holding his hand out. She approached, hands twisting behind her back, but he reached across and gently took her hands into his own, stroking the backs with his thumbs.  
  
She watched the way they played across her hands, rubbing circles into her skin, raising ridges and grooves into the pale white flesh. They stopped looking like hands at some point, more like ornaments, thinly veiled in the sheerest satin, that he continued to play with.  
  
He quietly asked her if she would like to get lunch, and perhaps afterwards spend some time together, in the library since she enjoyed that.  
  
She asked, did he not have practice?  
  
He assured her that Kiba had taken care of any concerns, and besides, he quite thought that he might like to spend a little more time with a girl he liked speaking to.  
  
She blushed prettily, and offered him a rare smile, and waited hungrily for him to smile back.  
  
This boy had simply _the most_ attractive philtrum she’d ever seen. Warmed her heart every time she saw it. It would look good under blue eyes. Perhaps a thinner nose too.  
  
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“It’s beginning. She hasn’t figured out the need yet, but she’s starting to devolve.” Vali murmured, peering down from the opposing rooftop. “She’s still restraining herself.” Too-large eyes glanced away, in the face of a young woman with otherwise negligibly pretty features. The skin about her eyes were disproportionately tight, wrinkled about the corners in ways that clashed with the spotted pores and redness on her cheeks.  
  
“Who’ll hold her culpable?” Kuroka grinned, sweeping her long hair back. She leaned against the railing, but she seemed fairly uninterested in the girl Vali was looking at. Vali himself was only here on a lark, _tempting fate_ as they said. His hair was ruffling in the breeze, the thick white locks clashing with his open black collared shirt. His legs dangled casually off the ledge, and he wondered if anyone would notice?  
  
“You’re keeping an eye out for the Sitri princess, right?” He murmured.  
Kuroka flicked her tail into his shoulder dismissively. Vali turned to look at her, but only saw a mangy black alley catalleycat curled up in the warm sunlight. She turned to him, golden eyes glittering behind her matty black fur, and he scowled back.  
  
“Don’t you give me that look.” His eyes narrowed. “You _know_ Azazel didn’t want us here. God knows what you thought, leaving Le Fay to run interference with that bitch in the church. She’s gonna find out eventually, and who’s gonna buy time then? _Bikou_?”  
  
The cat meowed.  
  
“Not _yet._ ” He hissed. “I haven’t found _him_ yet - it’s too soon.”  
  
The cat blinked heavily, and raised one paw to sweep its ears back.  
  
“No point - if Rias hasn’t seen us yet, she won’t.”  
  
In fact, more than either the Gremory or Sitri princesses, the girl below them had the greatest chance of finding them.  
  
She might actually blow their cover, Vali mused. He had something she wanted, after all. She’d find her way to him eventually. Dragons were inconvenient that way.  
  
“Look.” He murmured, eyes glimmering with the barest interest as he continued watching the girl below. “She’s making eye contact with a few of her peers. It’s not that she doesn’t understand her actions - she doesn’t realize what’s happening to begin with. She barely knows what she’s doing.”  
  
“Oh?” Kuroka hummed, once again fleshy. Her robes were pooled around her, a fact that didn’t seem to bother her untowardly. “It’s funny - she doesn’t even seem to realize that she scares them.”  
  
Vali awkwardly turned away.  
  
She seemed displeased. He should do something about that. “Hey Kuroka.” He started, still looking pointedly away. “Would you like to hear a joke?”  
  
A stunned moment passed, as Kuroka turned to him with her brows raised.  
  
“Vali, you’ve never told a joke in your life.”  
  
Vali rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t make me _incapable_.”  
  
Kuroka had a grin playing about her lips. “Go on then.”  
  
”What crimes can be called guiltless?”  
  
She played along, humming for a moment. “Dunno.”  
  
“Murder and tax evasion. Because the victim isn’t around to complain about it.”  
  
There was a slight intake of breath, and a long pause.  
  
“That was a pretty good one, nya. Keep practicing and you might actually be funny someday.”  
  
Vali swore quietly under his breath. He didn’t know why he even tried.  
  
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Kanna rose with the sun. She’d found herself spending longer and longer in the bathroom. Sleep had become sparse. She was woken constantly, irritation had become a norm. She’d lost the ability to lie down in comfort. Everything ached, things were constantly falling apart around her, and she could never seem to find her keys.  
  
Sometimes, Kanna wondered if she was losing her mind. It would be _just_ like her to misplace it, she thought irritably, stumbling her way to the sink after a too-short shower.  
  
A lash lay gently on her porcelain cheek.  
  
Starled from her internal monologue, Kanna paused in the mirror. Her bathrobe swirled about her, and she impatiently reached over the sink to wipe the steam quickly obscuring her features.  
  
She leaned in, gently presenting her left side. A lone eyelash rested there. More concerningly, it was only _half_ as long as it should be. She eyed the mascara by the sink, before she rolled her eyes and swept it aside entirely, sending it clattering across the surface and into a wall. Ignoring the little glass phial, she reached across and opened the mirror cabinet, reaching for her more heavy-duty backup. The curler was slightly heavy in her grasp, and she grimaced as she raised it to her eyes. She’d _told_ mother that the one with tapered edges was _hers_ , the long one _pinched_.  
  
Grimacing, she gently grasped her lashes - then slipped. It clattered from her hands, falling loudly into the sink, a black stain gently drifting from its pinched edge. Kanna didn’t notice, looking more carefully at where it had fallen from.  
  
The eyelash had _come off_.  
  
She gently pried the lashes up, feeling at the undersides and pinching. Brittle.  
  
Had she - Kanna thought furiously. Had _she_ \- yes, she had. She’d been tempted by that bonus.  
  
Her hands were trembling as she lifted them to her face, tracing the shorter hairs. Were they as long as they’d been last week? Aoba had strutted by, and they’d looked so _lush_ , curly and natural. But these stubs - they weren’t what she’d seen.  
  
Aoba had _duped_ her? Lied? To _her_?  
  
She rubbed at the lashes. They stayed stubbornly in place, short bristles rasping against her finger. She rubbed harder, trying to get at the little hairs closer to the lid, failing to grasp them and pinching the eyelid so it would _hold still_ while she reached for i- _ah!_  
  
She snapped her hands away, peering cautiously at her hands.  
  
Blood. On a fingernail.  
  
Her stinging eyelid seemed to redouble in pain. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, only distantly startled at how pale she looked. She was breathing hard, panting. Was that sweat or water running down the side of her head? She couldn’t affect to damage - damage her _other parts_.  
  
Oh god. Her parts. She was _flawed_. What had she _taken_?  
  
She didn’t - she couldn’t have - how could she have _known_ that Aoba used false lashes?! That Aoba would _lie_ to her like that! How _could_ she?!  
  
Kanna trembled. What was she going to do? She wasn’t just where she began, she was _worse off_. She looked ridiculous. Alien. She couldn’t go outside like this. She couldn’t go _anywhere_ like this. She had to - _she had to_ -  
  
She had to find new ones. There was no helping it. Nothing to be done.  
  
“Kanna!” Her mother called. “ _Please_ hurry, you’re getting late!”  
  
Kanna’s head snapped up, and then tilted down in sudden consideration.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Aika Kiryuu wasn’t pretty enough to bother with, Kanna thought. She often wondered why Kiryuu got up every day at all. She was stocky, ugly, in bad shape, and had _terrible_ hair.  
  
It made it all the more irritating that she forced herself into Kanna’s line of sight.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“I’m clearly not moving.” Kanna muttered, turning her head slightly away.  
  
Kiryuu clicked her tongue in irritation and rolled her eyes. “Not what I meant.” She sounded light hearted, but Kanna was close enough to hear the gentle _creak_ of her pencil in her grasp. “You need to stop what you’re doing. I saw you. You were following my friends. I-” Kiryuu lowered her voice to an undertone. “ _I warned you._ ” Kiryuu was frightfully tense, her grip turning her hands pale. Kanna shuffled away a bit. People like Kiryuu were always on the edge, and she didn’t want to risk Kiryuu snapping for some asinine reason and trying to attack her.  
  
“I didn’t hear a warning.” Kanna muttered, shuffling her feet. Kanna felt _too good_ to let this shit get her down.  
  
“You think I didn’t _notice_ , Kanna?” Kiryuu hissed. “I’ve seen you eyeing them. Following them places. What the _hell did you do? What_ are you _planning_?"  
  
She briefly met Kiryuu’s eyes and smirked before turning away. _Her_ eyes were still that same ugly color. How sad. Her eyes darted back reflexively, again, but realized that _this time_ , Kiryuu’s eyes were wide, and staring _right into hers_ with no small degree of shock.  
  
“What was that.”  
  
Kiryuu sounded startled. Kanna felt her pulse speed up a bit. What was going on. What had she noticed? Was there something wrong with Kanna’s face? Had she picked bad parts for the _second time_?  
  
Kiryuu reached for Kanna’s arm, but Kanna snatched her hand back and leaned away.  
  
“Your eyes.” Kiryuu’s stare was boring into the side of her head. “They were different somehow. Let me see again.”  
  
Kanna felt herself tremble slightly. She felt her pulse beat a staccato rhythm as her limbs went cold.  
  
She’d _noticed_?  
  
People had been treating her differently of course. More respectfully, taking notice of her, speaking to her. They likely didn’t realize _why_ , only that speaking to her had become a more pleasurable experience. But of _all_ those people, _Aika Kiryuu_ had been the one to notice that something was actually _different_?  
  
Kanna felt the coldness of fear grip her limbs. Her eyes tingled in a way that made Kanna want to scratch at them. They were burning.  
  
Did Kiryuu... _recognize_ them?  
  
Impossible. No one could. She was bluffing. Aika Kiryuu was a well-known liar. She didn’t _know_.  
  
 _You made no mistakes_ Kanna whispered to herself, and knew that it was the truth.  
  
“Were they _green?_ ”  
  
And suddenly sound rushed back in, color flooding back along with the roar of conversation. She felt more confident. She’d overcome Kiryuu’s paltry intimidation and felt stronger for it. She lifted her chin, and allowed herself to suck down a deep breath, taking in the sound of conversation.  
  
And then she noticed something.  
  
People walked by, spoke, touched each other and communicated.  
  
Except Kanna. No one spoke to Kanna. They deferred to her, got out of her way, noticed her existence. But no one sought her out. No one wanted to speak to her.  
  
No, but she was aware of who they _did_ look to.  
  
They saw the conversation going on between the two girls, the tenseness and perhaps even the threat of violence. But they didn’t see Kanna. If they looked, it was at Kiryuu. She was the one they spoke to, asked if something was going on. _She_ was the one people actually cared about.  
  
Kanna felt her happiness begin falling away. The buoyant giddiness circled the drain, and she was left feeling cold and frightfully aware of the people around her. _She has something you don’t_ something whispered in her mind.  
  
Kanna saw red. She hated that voice, throttled it and strangled it. She flayed that voice, tore great gory strips off it, and fed it all into the roiling cauldron of her gut, where self-loathing and envy warred to bring her to nausea.  
  
And stepped back. Kiryuu was saying something, but she didn’t matter. She had nothing, and couldn’t prove anything.  
  
Kanna shouldn’t be distracted from her path.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kanna had torn sheet after sheet out of its binding. She emptied her slim notebooks and binders, accumulated as many pages as she could.  
  
And on every page she could get her hands on, she drew an eye.  
  
Her vision was limited, Kanna had realized. Kiryuu’s ugly eyes could still bear to meet anothers. Kanna had taken the wrong eyes. Green was an _ugly_ color. It was as brittle as ice and as fleeting as mist. It was the color of a weak person. Kanna felt eyestrain just going outside.  
  
She needed to plan. She couldn’t be opportunistic, she had to _know_ what she was looking for.  
  
She took the pages and papered the walls with them, covered every surface with them that she could tape. It only covered 2 walls, and not even to the ceiling, but it was enough. She began from the top right, and colored a gradient down. White to black across, yellow to red to blue down. The darkening gradient of colored eyes took shape after a day or two’s work, and when she was done, she shut her eyes and stepped back. She turned around, got ready, then widened her eyes and spun on her heels.  
  
The sea of seething eyes stared back in the twilight, the setting sun casting a deep pall on her efforts. In the light, they seemed to flicker, all of them facing her, looking at her. Kanna felt the shiver run up her spine.  
  
So many eyes.  
  
But only one stood out. Reaching up, she tore it from the wall, the weight of the other eyes on her skin warming her. She held it up to the light. When she’d spun, _this_ eye among the rest had stood out.  
  
She needed it. Then people would notice.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Eyes continued following Kanna. They hadn’t stopped since last evening.  
  
She’d began noticing them everywhere, now. The feeling of being watched. Her neck prickled and shivers ran down her spine. She was alone now, hiding in the closet, and still the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Was it her imagination, the pitter-patter behind her head? Did the light really flicker on its own? The dripping water that had begun falling onto her head couldn’t have been from a pipe, could it?  
  
And yet, she looked up and saw bare wires and a corroded pipe above her.  
  
And _yet_.  
  
They crawled around her, a hive of guilt, stinging her consciousness with barbed reminders of her loneliness. She lowered her head, and took a small bite of her sandwich. Was the sand she felt in her head, or did the grit truly cling to the inside of her mouth?  
  
She could hardly tell anymore. It all tasted like ash anyway.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kanna ran a finger along a loose lock of hair, and swept it back with one long fingernail, tucking it behind one ear, allowing her finger to linger on the warm skin. The woman she was leaning over blushed slightly, jerking away and lifting her hand absently to the side of her head.  
  
“Pardon?” The woman squeaked, but it was distant. Her voice had a liquid quality to it, a faint sense of unimportance that let it slide languidly through Kanna’s mind and pour right out into a puddle on the floor. It dripped like the rainwater off her hair, and Kanna reflexively smoothed out her soaked jacket. Her rubber-soled sandals squeaked maddeningly against the floor tiles, and she felt the noise drill into her skull, casting the woman’s voice entirely out every - time - it - squeaked - like - thunder - in- her - head! It was impossible for this woman’s smooth voice to enter her mind at all! Frustrating, how frustrating!  
  
Kicking her feet, Kanna impulsively kicked her sandals entirely off, sending them flying, end over end, into a shelf. The impact made some boxes near the top wobble as the slippers bounced off, and the woman hastily rose to hold them back and straighten them. She cast Kanna a complex look, one Kanna failed to interpret, preferring instead to reply with a lingering look of the utmost avarice.  
  
“Boots, please.” She politely purred, eyes caught on the saleswoman’s trailing locks. “Sturdy ones.”  
  
Lips thinned, but she scurried off to obey. Her black hair continued to fall out of its tight bun, falling about her features in ways that highlighted her ears as she moved about. She didn’t try to speak to Kanna again, but that was fine. Kanna much preferred she simply listen and highlight her ears some more. They were round and the shell was nicely pointed and had no moles or discolorations. They were slightly paler than her face, and most importantly they were tight to her skull. When she’d seen them behind the womans hair, she’d reflexively checked her own reflection and nearly moaned in dejection; her ears _stuck out_. She hadn’t even _noticed_ how ungaily they looked, sticking out the side of her head like jug handles. Her reflection took on an apelike quality, big lips, eyes and those _horrid ears_. She could hardly recognize herself!  
  
Really, how could _anyone else_ be expected to do so?!  
  
Reaching out, she trailed a finger along the outer shell, ignoring the owner’s squawking. Possessively. The flesh was firm, and grew warm under her fingers. It moved away a little, and her hands darted out, tightly clasping it. She wasn’t _done_! She continued rubbing it, watching it change color.  
  
She did eventually notice, however, a rather portly man tapping her politely on the shoulder.  
  
“Miss.” He said firmly, without meeting her eyes. “You need to go.”  
  
Kanna inhaled deeply, allowing sound and sight to rush back into focus, and immediately realized she was the center of a hundred appalled glares.  
  
Kanna huddled in on herself a little. Had they noticed her ears? They were ugly. If people noticed them, then it was no wonder they were looking at her.  
  
Kanna felt uncomfortable. She wanted to hide. She wanted them to look away. She was a filthy, ugly, wretched thing and she didn’t wish to be seen like this.  
  
But.  
  
They were there, those ears. If she had them, would they look away? Her eyes darted, the pale flesh shining slightly in the afternoon sun, a watery light bouncing off of them.  
  
She could take them.  
  
She could take them and keep them and she would look fine. She’d look _normal_. She hadn’t _realized_ how revolting her appearance could be!  
  
She considered it. The saleswoman trembled a bit as Kanna watched, and Kanna was slightly startled to see the fear in her eyes.  
  
How?  
  
How did she know that Kanna wanted her?!  
  
Kanna was slightly upset by this. She shouldn’t have known so soon. It wasn’t _right._  
  
She settled down, closing her eyes a little, and obligingly stood. She didn’t open her eyes or look at the woman again - fearful that the temptation would grow too strong.  
  
She could wait. Kanna had time. This woman would be going nowhere soon.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kuroka was bored. When she was bored, she messed with people. It blew off enough time for her to either grow hungry or fall asleep.  
  
But Vali was busy.  
  
No one else was free. Not even Gogmagog.  
  
So she followed his pet project around instead. She was an ugly little trollop, this one. A real piece of work. Kuroka was disgusted.  
  
Disgusted!  
  
She made this disgust known. As was right and proper. Vali disliked that she did this, but he didn’t get an opinion. He kept blowing her off or kicking her out of his bed. He didn’t _deserve_ an opinion.  
  
“Kuroka, stop leaving dead rats on her doorstep.” Vali ground out, holding her by the scruff of the neck. She struggled vainly, trying to get the rotting little thing _just across the street_. The patchwork girl was going to be waking soon, Kuroka couldn’t miss her chance! She was tempted to go fleshy, but then Vali might just toss her in the river.  
  
Kuroka _hated_ water.  
  
He knew better than to drop her fuzzy form in the water. She’d dry herself in his sock drawer. He was _such_ a dweeb, he organized them by color. If he wasn’t pretty, he’d be irredeemable.  
  
Kuroka’s smugness somehow came across, and Vali began growling deep in his chest. This was dangerous, Kuroka realized. He had the key to the liquor cabinet. She’d forgotten.  
  
Oh no! She couldn’t risk irritating him after all.  
  
She mimed digging.  
  
“You can’t dig in her backyard.”  
  
She mimed scooping.  
  
“You can’t _bury_ the rats, Kuroka! First of all, I said no holes!”  
  
He said holes. Kuroka shivered with laughter. A young man with his looks, screaming about holes in the middle of the street. How shameful.  
  
Vali reddened as people stopped to look at him, and shot her a venomous look.  
  
Oh dear. She’d irritated him after all. She couldn’t help it, you know. He made it _sooooo_ easy.  
  
He put her under his arm like a sack of potatoes. Kuroka promptly went limp and tried to slide out of his grip.  
  
He seized her and began shaking her like a bottle of soda. Kuroka was dizzy now. Gross!  
  
She made sure to vomit onto his sleeve.  
  
They got home and Vali began screaming and flinging his clothes about. Kuroka curled up as a person again, properly nude in case he got tempted and finally slept with her. It seemed unlikely with how angry he was and how tiny he was from anger _down there_ , but hope sprung eternal.  
  
“Why?!”  
  
Kuroka shrugged.  
  
Vali’s eyes narrowed to slits.  
  
“She smells bad.” Kuroka lied.  
  
“Not _her_ , I meant _me_ \- oh, _whatever_.” He threw his hands up and ran them through his limp hair, sweeping it back. “Why _are_ you messing with her.”  
  
“She’s ugly.” Kuroka offered again.  
  
He raised a brow. _Seriously?_  
  
Kuroka rolled comfortably onto her back. “The pieces are good, but put together they look bad. Rather unpleasant as a whole, isn’t it? It’s gross.”  
  
Vali grunted. “She’s an uncreative one. Her subspecies caters to her inflexibility. It’s fitting - gears typically like the straightforward kind.”  
  
“Is that _respect_?”  
  
“It’s _disgust_.” His lips thinned. “Gears prefer the simpleminded kind because it’s easier to get them to think in similar lines or carry their wills. Anyone with enough strength can still beat that power out of them. It’s a shortcut, nothing more.”  
  
Kuroka rolled around a bit; the sofa was vinyl. “So what now?”  
  
Vali rolled his shoulders. “I’ve been thinking; if she can can take pieces, why not the whole thing? Faces are the next logical step. There’s enough potential in the idea to make use of her.”  
  
“The girl is near _feral_ Vali.”  
  
Vali shrugged. “Then we’ll just have Azazel rip the gear out entirely and give it to someone better. The primary user is preferable, subspecies are rare enough that we don’t even know how it’ll take to a new user. Azazel’s been itching to get his hands on one to test.”  
  
Kuroka smirked. “See Vali - I’m _onto_ you.”  
  
He raised a brow. Kuroka replied smugly. “You want me to think that, by implying that giving up on her is what Azazel might like, your choice to save this girl is a product of your idiocy and youthful rebellion against your infinitely generous benefactor.”  
  
Vali started frowning.  
  
“And!” Kuroka raised a lazy finger. “While that _is_ true!” Vali was now frowning deeply. “I know your _real_ intentions! The reason you’re pushing her modular appearance!” She rolled onto her back and crossed her hands against her chest. “You want to make her look like your crush, don’t you nya.”  
  
“ _I swear to fucking god Kuroka, don’t you dare try and push that as your-_ ”Vali snapped angrilym but Kuroka cut him off by snapping her flip phone open.  
  
Vali broke down into sulphurous curses and slapped her phone away as she began dialling Bikou’s number.  
  
Rubbing her stinging hand, she pouted.  
  
“Sounds like guilt, nya.”  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The last days of Kanna’s life began at the alley beside her regular corner store. Kiryuu waited there, patiently leaning against the wall. She would’ve ignored her, but she didn’t actually seem to care whether or not Kanna actually joined her. Since that was the case, she simply _had_ to force her presence on Kiryuu. She’d leave the second it seemed like Kiryuu wanted her there. So she stepped quietly behind, mindful of where her feet lay. The alleyways were nominally dry, but the school didn’t really bother with cleaning up farther than the train station.  
  
Kiryuu waited there, eyes shut and chest slowly rising, red hair tied into a messy bun that pushed against the mold-stained walls. Puddles congealed slapped gently underfoot.  
  
“You came.” She murmured.  
  
“I couldn’t help myself.” Kanna crossed her arms. “Well?”  
  
Kiryuu shrugged. “I know what you did.”  
  
“Second time you’ve said that.” Kanna leaned against the wall of the building. Kiryuu leaned against the wall beside her, tired, not meeting her eyes. Kanna slowly shut her eyes, eyes slitted, and watched Kiryuu carefully through them,  
  
“Why?”  
  
“You said she was scalped.” Kiryuu looked at her feet, and slowly kicked at a bit of dirt on her shoe. “Like it was intentional. But you were the only one who said that. The police said it was like she’d just been in an accident that tore it off. But you were the only one who said it like it had nothing to do with how Aoba died.”  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
“You don’t seem very broken up about it. Not going to accuse me of anything?”  
  
“Did you do it?” Kiryuu slowly asked.  
  
“That’s not much of an accusation. Whoy cares, anyway.” Kanna shrugged. “But what - no _how?_ Isn’t that what most people want to know?”  
  
“It doesn’t really matter, does it? It was nothing but a means to you. Making a big deal of it would probably just make you happy.”  
  
She wasn’t wrong. But she wasn’t done.  
  
“But I’m glad.” Kiryuu said slowly. “I was worried - I threw up a couple of times, you know? I was terrified I had it wrong. But I’m happy - I’m glad you’re beyond that kind of concern. Please-” She hesitated. “-please, stay like that.” She pleaded. Kanna had a sinking feeling.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because, the way you are now, I don’t have to feel guilty at all.” Kiryuu said blankly.  
  
Kiryuu, what did you _do_.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kanna lay silently in her bed. She’d been staring at her ceiling for what felt like hours. Perhaps her phone could have told her otherwise, but Kanna didn’t really feel like looking. She stared at the same square patch, feeling time while away.  
  
At some point, she’d stopped wanting to fall asleep. At some point, it felt as though the world ended when she closed her eyes.  
  
She felt the minutes drip by like a physical thing. In the dark of night, she felt their passage most keenly. She understood now, more than any other time of day: she had no need to regret what she’d done, only how long she’d waited.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kanna held flowers. She wondered, what should she say? Grief came in five stages, they said, but she had no way of telling. Was she depressed? _Should_ she feel depressed? Or guilty she _didn’t_? She didn’t think it hadn’t sunk in yet, but she wasn’t sure how long she should be waiting for something to happen. Perhaps she would round a corner and expect to see Aoba there?  
  
Aoba, with her lovely eyes and porcelain skin, laughter dancing in the lines of her face, skipping down the street.  
  
Ignoring Kanna, as she always did.  
  
No, Kanna didn’t think she’d be expecting anything of the sort. Perhaps it had been simply too long. She squinted, and looked up. It was noon; Kanna had left school at lunch. No one had followed her, not even so much as a Disciplinary Officer. The alleyway she’d walked to undisturbed was narrow, behind a soba joint and several apartment complexes. It was dirty, and several days of burnable trash had been left, softly rotting beside a scuffed streetlight. Only one door opened into the alley for several meters, which meant so long as she kept an eye out for the rush of noise from the Soba store owner drawing back the curtains to his kitchen and letting someone through to the back, she was undisturbed.  
  
Aoba Tomiko had died here.  
  
She hadn’t been alone either. No one else really knew that. It was difficult to say what Kanna thought, but the parallel was...pleasing in some way. Both of them had been haunted, and now both were accompanied by something less than a person, but more than a memory.  
  
Aoba was special to Kanna. She hadn’t been before, Kanna reflected, but _how_ things changed. There were so _many_ things Kanna wished she could have spoken.  
  
Joys she wished she could have shared. Now, only Kanna could feel them. It wasn’t the first time she’d come here, and it wouldn’t be the last. But every time, she regretted.  
  
Alas.  
  
Kanna gently left the orange Poppy blossom on the concrete, slightly off to the side where someone couldn’t step on it.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kanna passed Kiryuu by the gate the next day. They didn’t make eye contact. Something in Kanna’s gut twisted painfully as they crossed, but no words were exchanged.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dinner was as quiet an affair as it ever was in the Kanna House. Father said words, Kanna mimed responding, and Mother spoke not at all.  
  
They ate. Handmade of course. Father spoke. Personal topics, naturally. He enjoyed spending time with them, speaking and waiting for response or banter. Mother tried, but her golden lips were too heavy, and the words too picturesque. They could gain no air no matter how hard they were cast, and fluttered back into her mouth. Father laughed, and patted Mother on her breast. Both seemed pleased.  
  
Kanna was not. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, she’d cupped her cauliflower ears and begged him to speak up.  
  
Alas! She couldn’t hear him! What Father said went unnoticed and uncommented upon. He moved his mouth but the words dripped from his lips like water off a bank. He tried catching them in a glass, but he had too much to say and nowhere to lay it. They splashed onto his plate and food was simply _everywhere_.  
Wasted! Both words and wealth squandered!  
  
Simply typical. Kanna screamed at him to clean up, and Mother burst into diamond tears. She tried looking at Kanna to perhaps serve her another slice of solid advice, perhaps so she might at least eat her fill, but Mother’s rhinestone eyes were continuously drawn to the lamp by her side and it fell. Kanna felt as though she’d accomplished all she could at the table and offered to deal with the fallout.  
  
Mother insisted that it could handle itself.  
  
Kanna sat down and primly finished her steak, mind a-whirl and a-wash and a-gog with all sorts of thoughts. Father picked at the kibble he was permitted in his plastic bowl. Mother peeled a second grape and took a generous nibble.  
  
And Kanna was briefly happy.  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kiryuu had ducked Kanna’s wandering eye for a full week after their last talk, and it was getting to her. She had no idea what Kiryuu had been threatening, and the tension was frankly too much to bear. Kiryuu was _quick_ for a pissant bitch, but Kanna was on the edge, and it drove her to extremes, like paying people to keep an eye out.  
  
Somehow it worked out, and a satisfied young man wandered away from the back of school where Kanna cornered Kiryuu.  
  
Unfortunately, her attempts to shake Kiryuu down were about as successful as her attempts to find the girl in the first place.  
  
“I got nothing.” Kiryuu shrugged. “It’s out of my hands.”  
  
Kanna stared at her. “What? No. Nono.” She slammed her hand roughly against the brick wall they leaned against. “You tell me. You tell me what you did. You can’t leave this. Take responsibility.”  
  
“I don’t care anymore.” She folded her arms across her chest, looking away from Kanna’s accusatory glare.  
  
Kanna’s eyes narrowed. “Liar.”  
  
Kiryuu burst into a brief laugh, shockingly genuine. “Maybe. I think my problem is that I cared too much, you know? I cared.” She shrugged carelessly, but pointedly didn’t look at Kanna. “About her. And you.”  
  
Kanna snickered a little. Politely. She pressed her lips together, but the urge to break manners and taunt the girl a little was overwhelming. For some godforsaken reason, Kiryuu was pretending that she gave a shit, and Kanna wasn’t particularly comfortable with that. It smacked of hypocrisy and self-apologism. “What the hell did you want? What were you looking for?”  
  
Kiryuu sighed tiredly, then threw her a curveball.  
  
“Are you sorry?”  
  
Kanna frowned, the ridge between her eyes wrinkling harshly. “I’ve never been sorry my whole life.”  
  
Kiryuu slowly shut her eyes. “Then no, no I didn’t find a damn thing. There’s no point past that.” Kiryuu slowly rolled her head back and forth. “I’m tired.” She admitted. “Aoba’s friends and family already gave up. And frankly, _Hyoudou_ followed Aoba around more than you. Blonde isn’t even that rare in the school, half the boys bleached themselves after Yuuto joined, and half the girls after Aoba passed. I have no proof, and the police can’t go off that.”  
  
Kanna finally put some of the picture together. “You’re not involved?” A horrible sinking feeling began weighing her gut down. “That can’t be all. You’re just...giving up?” The knot of anxiety didn’t dissolve like she thought it would. No, somehow it was even heavier. It was leaden now, sinking through her guts.  
  
 _Was it a bluff?_  
  
Funny. Kanna actually felt worse now.  
  
“Aoba’s _gone_.” Kiryuu sighed. “She’s _dead_ and all the anger in the world won’t keep me going.”  
  
“You could tell the police I did it, at least.” Kanna tried weakly.  
  
“I told _someone_. They’ve known for a few days, now.”  
  
Kanna felt the outrage building in her chest, washing away that lingering, traitorous stab of relief. “And you’re _warning_ me? That some junkie with a needle’s gonna stumble out of some alley and gut me? So I can - what, run?”  
  
Kiryuu shrugged. “You won’t run.”  
  
Kanna’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “Oh? Why’s that? Life’s not worth living without you _looking over my shoulder?_ ”  
  
“Because that would mean admitting you did something wrong to a stranger.” Kiryuu slowly raised herself off the side of the school. “And if you were capable of restraining yourself like that, we wouldn’t be speaking like this.”  
  
“That doesn’t _work_ in real life, idiot.” Kanna snarled. “You think I’m gonna stick around and _wait_ for whatever freakshow you hired to show up?”  
  
“You won’t be waiting long.” Kiryuu turned to her, and the look on her face was a melancholy one. Kanna felt her pulse slow to nothing. There was something final about that look.  
  
“Goodbye, Kanna. You’ll be fine. I’ll have someone look after your family for you.”  
  
No, Kanna thought savagely. She wouldn’t.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“What am I even doing here?” Kanna wondered aloud. She picked her way through the rubble, wobbling a bit as the pieces of wood wobbled underfoot. Hastily hopping off, she winced as some protruding splinters caught her bare shin, pinpricks of blood welling up as she stumbled back. The ground continued to give beneath her, and she found herself collapsing to the ground hopelessly. Her ankle twisted harshly underneath her, the careless movement sending shocks of pain up her leg, and she tilted too far, landing entirely on her side in a cloud of dust.  
  
She waved her hand, coughing, eyes watering, chest shaking as she lay, twisted half off her back.  
  
She lay there, staring at that sky high above her.  
  
“It’s not my fault.” Kanna whispered to the uncaring heavens.. “It’s unfair. I wasn’t looking to harm anyone. All I did was look, and I was branded a suspect before I had a chance to protest.” Her head lolled on the floor, powder coating her loose locks, turning them ashy grey. “I was cornered for being suspicious, and I was told to stay away from the people I most wanted to be like. Without harming a single person, I became a criminal, I became unwanted without a shred of proof. They ran about, collecting proof that I enjoyed watching them, thoughtless to my feelings. They raided my pictures, my drawings, my dreams, and decided I was a threat.” She looked at heaven. “Is that fair?”  
  
But God didn’t answer her. Another voice did.  
  
“I found you.” Said a man named Death.  
  
Death was a boy with white hair and a wry smile and more force of presence coiled about his shoulders than any wild animal she’d ever seen. He wore it like a mantle, and it draped across him thicker than any coat. He strode carelessly over the fallen rubble, approaching her with reckless threat in every movement.  
  
Perhaps he might’ve protested his appellation had he known. But at some point certain details became negligible. Death was he and Death was named he. Kanna had no desire to speak as he approached, only hope he made it fast.  
  
Death had worn black to her final moments.  
  
Death was also, incidentally, pimping _out_ _of control_ as well. No mere man could wear leather pants and look that good. Kanna had a brief moment to wish she could stop and have a go with those legs. She might actually make a skirt look good.  
  
Sadly, it seemed that he wasn’t the patient sort.  
  
“Not going to run?”  
  
“Would there be a point?” Kanna asked plaintively. “I know you’ve been following me for days now.” This had to be it. Kiryuu had hinted as much. No one else would ever come looking for her now.  
  
The boy paused and cursed lightly under his breath before meeting her eyes with his impassive lenses. She wondered what his eyes said behind those frames. What did they see?  
  
“Was it the girl - I knew she wasn’t trustworthy - no, couldn’t be, she _hates_ you, no way it was her. Freed?” He shook his head a bit. “No, that would be silly, you still have all your fingers. No, I got it.” He confidently snapped his fingers. “What did the cat tell you.”  
  
A stranger world than hers, apparently. Briefly she wondered if he was sane. He was here to kill her, or worse, after all.  
  
“Tell me what the cat told you.” He insisted gravely.  
  
Kanna shuddered. Mad or no, best not to dally. “She wanted fish?” She offered, leaning away.  
  
Death muttered something naughty under his breath, before turning away. “That’s _just_ like her.” He muttered, seemingly irritated.  
  
“That seems unfair.” Kanna slowly lowered herself to get comfortable, brushing her pants down so they didn’t bunch up under her ass. “You can’t really blame a cat for _being_ a cat.”  
  
That pulled his attention, he looked intrigued as he turned to her. “You think?” He asked, as though she’d said something novel.  
  
“Well...sure?”  
  
“Good thinking. A cat _is_ a cat, after all. And how about _you_?”  
  
Breath caught in her chest.  
  
“It’s an interesting perspective to take. Go on, tell me. Can I say the same for you, Kanna?” Death asked mildly. “Can I really blame you for being who you are?”  
  
“But I didn’t do anything.” She’d unconsciously lowered her eyes at some point. He stepped closer, and she stepped back.  
  
“Nothing?” He stepped forwards again. “You’ve never taken an action in your life? ”  
  
“I’ve never done anything wrong.” She said hoarsely.  
  
“But a girl died, didn’t she?”  
  
 _He knew_. There was an entire rush involved with acknowledging the words. The admission that an action she regretted taking had occurred was one thing, but for someone to _know_ \- well, they’d have to understand.  
  
And no one could understand.  
  
“It’s complicated.”  
  
His lips quirked in a way that said he saw a joke she didn’t. “But was it _wrong_?”  
  
Kanna’s lips trembled.  
  
“No. I-she-” Kanna stumbled over her words. “I didn’t _kill_ her! She just...”  
  
“Lost something.”  
  
The words were a whisper, but they chilled her.  
  
“You took something, didn’t you Kanna.” The boy named Death said calmly. “Something important, and then she just died.”  
  
“It wasn’t what I _wanted!_ ” She cried desperately. “It’s not how it was supposed to be!”  
  
“Then what did you WANT, Kanna.” He hissed, and the pressure of his words threatened to buckle her knees.. “What _did_ you intend?!”  
  
“I wanted to kill her.”  
  
The boy seemed startled.  
  
“I wanted to kill her!” The words were pouring out now, a rush, the weight of her secret vomiting forth. “But I couldn’t finish - _she just fell over,_ and the p-power...it was _just there_ taking it all!” The tears were flowing freely now. “I thought she’d saved me from myself, but all I feel is _regret!_ ”  
  
“And _what_ ’s so wrong with that?”  
  
Kanna blinked the tears away, sniffling slightly as she dabbed at the tears with the hem of her filthy coat. The boy stood in front of her, but now a powerful satisfaction seemed to pour from him. His earsplitting grin was all for her.  
  
“There is _nothing wrong_ with what you did.” He paced a little, back and forth, excitement showing in how he raked back his hair and waved his hands. “You weren’t wrong! To take those actions was brave, and your gea-your _power_ responded to those honest desires!”  
  
Kanna felt her jaw slacken, something deep in her coming undone.  
  
The boy whirled back to her and spread his arms widely. “But you’re already a sinner Kanna. You’ve committed a crime beyond redemption, because you failed to take that girls life, and then took everything else.”  
  
“She didn’t need it.” Kanna weakly argued.  
  
The boy pointed a finger at her nose, and she went crosseyed following it. “That’s true, but also not the point. You need to take responsibility. You’ve already come this far, haven’t you? Take responsibility, because you can’t let it be for nothing.”  
  
“Who _are_ you?!” She finally managed to ask, her breath coming in shallow. This was too much to handle. All this... _acceptance_ , she couldn’t handle it. She was crying again. Was she allowed to be this happy?  
  
He pointed a solemn thumb at his chest. “I’m Vali.” He was still grinning, and Kanna finally noticed how satisfied it was. “And I want to be a sinner like you someday.”  
  
“It’s...” She was red, she was certain. She was blushing, and oh my she was a _mess_. “It’s not that special...”  
  
Vali dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense - abandoning the trappings and logic of modern society, casting aside your chances of being loved, growing up, becoming a responsible and reasonable human being and ever looking at yourself with any degree of pride and self worth - this is certainly something to be respected.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “You’re the kind of person I could use working for me.”  
  
“You _want_ me?”  
  
“Of course.” He said smoothly. “After all - you haven’t any choices.”  
  
“That’s true.” She admitted.  
  
He cocked his head, as though her quick acceptance was unexpected. “What about your family?”  
  
Kanna blushed shyly, lacing her hands. In closer inspection, it had a furrow about the fourth finger of both hands, one both alien and deeply familiar to her.  
  
“They’re with me.”  
  
Vali stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Efficient.” He admitted. “I’m disgusted, but it doesn’t really contradict my view of you, so I’m not surprised or anything.”  
  
Kanna smiled a silly little smile. It was more than she’d ever hoped for.  
  
“And what about me?” Her blood began rushing, faster and faster, her whole body heating up until it felt like she’d caught flame from toetip to temple. She finally felt excited. “What...can I get?”  
  
Vali’s smile finally dropped, and his expression became something far more focused. “You get a chance. One, single chance.”  
  
“At what.” She whispered throatily. Her body felt like it moved free of her control, as though it knew what was to come. As though it could sense it.  
  
“At something you want.” Vali replied smoothly. He raised his hands to his head, and slowly slid off his sunglasses.  
  
Kanna felt something fall from her eyes, slide down her cheek and pool next to her head.  
  
It reflected in the crystalline eyes revealed when the man named Vali took off his sunglasses. Blue so frozen they were ice. She could see the drool on her face reflected in them.  
  
“Beautiful.” She whispered. She wanted them. She needed them. Those chips of tundra, the thought of them rolling around in her skull were enough to boil her blood. The iciness chilling her skull, seeping into her mind, would be the most pleasurable feeling on earth.  
  
She reached for them, fingers trembling, but they were so _high_.  
  
And then he obligingly kneeled down.  
  
“Let’s wager.” He whispered, a wild light shining in those chips of ice. It spread, she could see it, it flowed from eye to shoulder to hand and pooled in his palm. The ice spread like a virus, up his fingers to his wrist, where a white gauntlet began to form on his arm. The last to form were blue shards of eternity, swirling into existence with a wink.  
  
The Gauntlet was beautiful. And powerful.  
  
He gently seized Kanna’s quivering hand with that hand, and placed it on his cheek, before lowering his gauntlet once more and placing it palm-down on her forehead.  
  
“Go.”  
  
Kanna’s hand jerked like a hummingbird and dove for his eye. She could almost touch it. She bet it would be cold, like ice. Like winter. It would chill her hand and freeze her bones and cool her blood.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Kanna wheezed out a breath. Her blood was suddenly thundering in her veins, her heart pounding, darkness creeping into her vision. She suddenly felt as though her limbs were iron and a beast sat on her chest.  
  
But her need was stronger. Her hand had a mind of its own, sliding down his cheekbones to where she felt his canthus, beneath where his eye was pulsing.  
  
Her finger slid onto his eye. It was cold. And hard. It felt like no flesh she’d ever known, she couldn’t mar it if she tried. It was like a marble.  
  
Pleasure rushed through her veins and left her deadened limbs tingling.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Visceral agony replaced pleasure. Kanna’s chest pulsed, and bile rose in her throat. Her head was pounding. Light had become intolerable, a stabbing pain that drilled into her skull. Odd places had begun sharply aching; her inner eye, her left arm, her lower back and her inner thighs.  
  
Her finger violently dug in.  
  
It was cold. Like ice.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Kanna vomited, body twitching. She couldn’t see him anymore, but she could feel his eyes.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Her finger twisted into his socket. She’d follow these eyes anywhere.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
She’d follow these eyes anywhere.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Kanna’s eyes rolled back into her skull. She was shaking violently, so hard she felt her hand fall out of his skull and flop to the side.  
  
Regret. She’d wanted to feel them against her palm for even a moment longer.  
  
 **DIVIDE**  
  
Black.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
“That was entirely unnecessary.” Kuroka sounded reproving as she walked up behind him.  
  
“But I looked cool, right?” Vali murmured. “That’s important. That’s what’ll stick. You gotta beat it into their heads, it’s the only way to make them listen. Make sure to remind her how cool I was.”  
  
“ _Entirely_ pointless.” She muttered, coming up to stand beside him.  
  
Vali shrugged heavily. “There was definitely a point. Did you hear what she said before she went out?”  
  
“‘I’ll follow those eyes anywhere.’’” She quoted, looking thoughtful. “Was there something more to that?”  
  
Vali snickered. “You thought that was _her_ answering?”  
  
Kuroka’s eyes widened. “That was the _gear_?” She turned analytical eyes on the fallen girl, still twitching and heaving on the floor. “I didn’t realize it had an ego that strong...” She turned to Vali, hair sweeping around to curtain around her right shoulder. “You want _her_ to join?” Vali’s reddened eye tingled, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He wiped it off brusquely. “ _Her_?” He laughed shortly. “I couldn’t care less about _her._ ”  
  
“The gear then.”  
  
“What else?”  
  
“Poor girl.” Kuroka observed, sighing heavily. For a moment she allowed herself to feel sympathy. “Hardly anything must be left of her.”  
  
“Her mind is in pieces.” Vali grunted. “The gear’s ego is patching everything up. Their wills are hitting synchronicity.” He eyed her coldly. “It would be impressive if it weren’t so pathetic.”  
  
“The gear’s eating her mind?” Morgan stepped around Vali, twirling her staff. “Does that happen?”  
  
Kuroka yowled in amusement. “Of course. Fearless leader here-” A flick of her tail caught Vali behind his ear, leaving him scratching at it roughly. “-is one of the most at risk of anyone.”  
  
“Of the gear, taking over?”  
  
“He doesn’t speak about it much-”  
  
“Once upon a time.” Vali roughly cut in. The two women fell silent, turning to him in muted surprise. Vali refused to turn, though the tips of his ears pinked a bit. “Once upon a time, God in his Heaven looked upon the earth, and created the <Sacred Gear System> to even the playing field. He measured the worth of a man-”  
  
A whipcrack to his ear, and Vali hurriedly amended himself. “-male _or female_ , it’s a turn of phrase woman!” He glared over his shoulder, before turning back and continuing to stride away. “He measured someone’s worth and if they had the potential to be _great_ , gifted them a gear to allow them to _break the threshold_.” He looked silently at his fist, before he clenched it. “The gears went to the worthy.”  
  
Morgan jogged a bit to catch up to Vali’s hastening stride. “You said _once upon a time_?”  
  
“Who knows what _He_ ’s doing anymore.” Vali muttered. “Heaven’s a broken wheel, and it’s spinning out of control. It’s anyone’s game now. The gears are a power surpassing imagination, and a lot of them have the ego to match; that girl was never meant for that kind of power. She never even saw its shadow, and it ate her whole.”  
  
“So she’s worthless.”  
  
“No.” Vali’s wolfish grin finally tore it’s way across his face. “Didn’t you hear? Her only regret was not killing the girl first. She’s fighting it. She’s nothing but fodder, but she _can_ be used.”  
  
“You’re trying to beat out _God’s_ plan?” Kuroka was definitely amused now.  
  
Vali rolled his eyes. She didn’t know. “Sure. It’s _him_ doing things I’m worried about.” He fought back a snicker.  
  
Kuroka pouted. “You’re certainly rebelling against _something._ ”  
  
“Aren’t we all.”  
  
“Do you resent it?”  
  
 _Did he resent it?_  
  
No. No, he was grateful. He was eternally thankful that Sirzechs and Azazel were as powerful as they were, because Vali would sooner tear his arm off than grow so strong that he’d come to hate fighting.  
  
So they could stay there, on their thrones, and Vali would gladly march up to them again and again to tear them off, confident they’d make a hell of a game of it.  
  
Vali _loved_ fighting. But people were so, so _weak_. So weak that half their power made them nothing at all. More opponents than anyone on earth, and his greatest fear was _running out_. Any stronger and there would be no challenge at all. He was so, _so_ very careful for so _long_ , to never exert himself, to never grow or explore, to stay caged in Azazel’s gilded cage.  
  
He was _tired_.  
  
He was tired of _being_ tired.  
  
He just wanted to go all out and tear Hell a new one and it was _so close to happening_ he could taste the ashes on his tongue.  
  
“Yeah. Fucking ‘course I resent it.”  
  
“Is that why you want her?”  
  
Vali cast an eye down.  
  
“I doubt anyone is left in this world that even remembers her name. They don’t need her.”  
  
“What about you?” Morgan cut in innocently.  
  
Vali rolled one shoulder in anticipation. “I _can_ use her. And unlike her, I can beat my gear, and I can teach her to as well. I even know how; it’s the easiest thing in the world.” Vali said calmly. He felt the skin on his knuckles begin to prickle. “Go to the root of desire. I’ll find Red and I’ll kill him. And finally shut Albion up once and for all.”  
  
 _Don't disappoint me Red. I’ll never forgive you._  
  
He turned to them, away from the fallen girl, and shrugged. “Easy as that.”


	20. Issei Hyoudou is gullible (Part II)

_Kaede Kanna_

They had found two things from that framed photo. Well, three things really. The name they found scrawled on the back of the photo. 

They had also found two other images, nestled behind the first. 

“Who _is_ this chick?” Motohama shuffled between the pictures. They were of identical dimension, with three people standing in similar posture and format. Two, the mother and father, remained the same throughout, standing rigidly behind a rosewood seat, hands clasped to a young girl’s shoulders. 

Black to blue, brown to blonde, the girl alone changed picture to picture.

“This girl’s a damn chameleon.” He held the pictures up, images overlaid, to the light. There was so little discrepancy between the scenes that they appeared to be nearly a solid whole. Nearly flawlessly superimposed. “Or a robot.”

“Nah dude, it’s in fashion.” Matsuda waved him off, slowly raising himself up onto his elbows. “Fashion, you know man. Changes every day. Sometimes you just gotta keep up.”

Motohama squinted at the picture. “Yeah, I can see it. See,” He raised one up and flicked it with a fingernail. “Straight, cropped hair here,” and then waved one in the other hand. “Braided, curly hair here.”

“Stylish.” Kiba said drily. 

“Be fair - they worked hard to get in, you know?” Motohama pointed out. “I asked around, and tons of the girls haven’t even dated before. I bet they spent all their time studying instead. She deserves to feel pretty.”

“You say that like you _didn’t_ work hard, Motohama-kun.” Kiba raised a brow. 

“Of course not.” Issei snorted, folding his arms and sneering at the other two. They sneered back. “These guys cheated to get in.”

Kiba had the audacity to look simultaneously shocked and disappointed at this.

Motohama glared at Issei. “That’s a _massive_ exaggeration.” He crossed his arms, squatting down. “I worked as hard as anyone else did.”

“When?” Kiba stared at him like it would set the boy on fire.

Motohama finally looked a little ashamed. “The night before.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Matsuda muttered, crouching and glaring at a sheepish Motohama.

“Don’t worry.” Motohama proudly slapped his chest. “Even though I’m like this, Hana-sensei still says that I’m ‘the kinda guy that can learn something after hearing it seven times’, you know?”

“That’s not a virtue no matter what grade you’re in, let alone a highschooler.” Issei shook his head sadly. “How the _fuck_ did you get into Kuoh at all?”

“I cheated.”

“So you cheated after all.”

“I cheated too.” Matsuda said proudly. “I copied off this moron with glasses. I thought he was smart ‘cause he kept pushing them up.”

The boys chortled and high-fived.

“What a mistake.” Kiba observed sadly. “And yet, somehow you lucked out.”

“Luck is a virtue.” He assured Kiba. “God willed this.”

Kiba rolled his eyes so hard his eyes went blank. In the darkness of the house, it was bizarrely disturbing. 

“Stop that.” Issei demanded. “You look like Sadako.”

Kiba’s eyes reasserted themselves. “I have blonde hair!” He protested.

“ _Why is_ ** _that_ ** _his argument?”_ Motohama whispered, leaned over to Matsuda. Matsuda shrugged, picking at a hangnail. 

Issei, however, looked startled. Whirling around, he grabbed at the picture of the girl, the one with blonde hair, and squinted at it. “Oi, Matsuda.” He called absently. “You take pictures of the cutest girl in every year, right?”

“Weekly.” Matsuda confirmed. Issei looked up, an odd look dancing in his eyes. _Blonde hair_ , he muttered under his breath, spreading the images out.

“What if these weren’t taken over months at all?” Issei questioned, tracing a cut barely visible on the girls cheek. Peering at one of the other images, the same cut made itself visible, slightly scabbed. Issei snapped his fingers, tapping the image. “These were taken over a couple of _days_ , man!” Issei said triumphantly. “Yo Matsuda, when did a ton of girls go blonde?”

Matsuda’s brows furrowed a bit. “Dude.” He said slowly. “They started going blonde as soon as Prince _-kun_ here showed up.”

“Yeah I _know_ .” Issei said irritably. “But I mean, like, a _ton._ ”

Matsuda worried at his lip a little. “Shit man,” he said thoughtfully. “Like, _last week_.”

Issei blinked a bit. “Huh.” He looked back down at the picture and gave it the gimlet eye. The girl in the image continued to stare impassively back, alternatively dark and light eyes glaring back. 

Issei shrugged, sliding the pictures out from the glass, and tossed the frame over his shoulder, suppressing a wince as it loudly smashed behind him. “Well, that was a wash. So much for that idea.” He turned to Kiba, who had frozen with his arm outstretched to the shattered frame and a protest on his lips. “What now?”

Kiba slowly turned to him, a lost look in his eyes. “ _Why_.”

Issei shrugged, unabashed, still holding the pictures. “It was too quiet in here.”

 _Quiet_ Kiba slowly mouthed, before giving up. “Alright, I guess. Give me the pictures.” Taking them into his hands, he flipped through them slowly with an unnerving focus in his eyes, before quickly pocketing them. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Motohama raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it.” Kiba confirmed. “There’s nothing more to be done here, I’m afraid. Whatever it is Miss Aika wanted, we’ve accomplished. The home is empty, and whatever grudge this place held is long dissipated.” He gestured limply to the hallway behind him. “I cleared what lingered. Nothing more is to be done here.”

Motohama slowly drew a copy of the King James Bible and a copper cross from under his shirt. “You sure?”

Kiba looked visibly uncomfortable, visibly wincing. “Er, I don’t think you quite understand the scale we’re talking abou- _would you mind terribly putting that cross away?_ ”

Motohama slowly stowed it away, and Kiba breathed a sigh of relief, missing the calculative expressions that crossed Issei and Matsuda’s faces as they watched him. He caught the tail end of the look they exchanged, shooting them an odd look they ignored. 

“Alright.” Matsuda grunted, pushing off the wall and stretching out. “Thank god _that’s_ over.”

* * *

The bastardization of language reared its ugly head on rare occasion in Kuoh; the residents tended to be fairly good about that sort of thing. Exceptions existed here, however, as they were wont to do. The directions given were to _Dupark_ , a nickname so contextually incestuous it needed three seperate boards to point to it.

In the ‘50’s, the _Inagawa-kai_ funded a public works project rather infamously known as the Deguchi Dumping Grounds, a public park so wantonly infested by street toughs that the entire location was written off as a tragic dumpster fire, made worse by the sharp downturn in police patrol rumored to come directly from one of the wealthy patrons of the city. The infamous death of _Doshū Inoue_ and the eclectically bloody scavenger hunt for the 2.4 million yen he'd embezzled from the clan before his execution put _De-Do_ park at the top of everyone’s _Do-Not-Visit_ list. Later, the name was simply left at _Du-Du Park,_ as the stray animal population saw it shifted from public park to public wastebin. At last, the bastardized form of _that goddamn shithole_ found itself simply shortened to _dupark,_ making finding the place a matter so culturally offensive that the attempt was often seen as a way of doing away with unwanted family members.

Thus, when Freed Sellzen finally emerged from beneath it’s dark canopy, bloody and quiet like those battlefield crows, the neighbors simply sighed and cursed the youth, the elderly, the politicians and the poor alike for putting them in these trying circumstances while pointedly avoiding the problem. Perhaps they might have noticed that none of the blood belonged to the man himself, but then that would’ve involved confrontation, and that was simply not done.

Freed, on the other hand, was in a simply delightful mood as he made his way across the street. He skipped his way past a mother carefully covering her child’s ears, unlatching a gate smoothly and rapping his knuckles sharply on the doorway to the Kanna Household.

Yuuto Kiba opened the door with a peculiar gaze and made to shut it just as promptly upon noticing what awaited him on the other side, but Freed quickly wedged his foot between the jamb.

“Truce, truce!” He lightly sang as Kiba repeatedly slammed the door on his foot. “I call parlay!”

“No.” Kiba said shortly, struggling to hold the door shut. But to his immense discomfort, it continued to slide backwards, the priests grinning face peeking out from between the door and jamb, forcing himself further and further in with that same sick grin on his face. 

“We’re on the same side, I’m telling you!” Freed continued to insist while forcing himself inside. “I’ve no interest in harming anyone!” A statement profoundly unconvincing when made with a weapon in hand. The blonde man began slamming his knee into the middle of the thick wood, and such was his prodigious strength that even the thick frame began to buckle, cracks spiderwebbing across the window placed at the top. Kiba cursed and stepped back, letting go entirely and watching Freed lurge forwards as the resistance vanished. Bringing his knee up, he let Freed run right into it, straightening into a violent kick he sunk deep into the priests gut. Freed retched and gasped for breath, falling to his knees and breathing shallowly. Kiba loomed heavily over the man.

It seemed that he had the upper hand, but this wasn’t the first time he’d put the violent priest on the back foot, and he knew that it was at these times that Freed was at his most dangerous. Indeed, a careful eye spotted the gleam of steel as Freed drew a serrated blade across his chest, the flat concealed behind his forearm. Had he stepped a foot closer, the blade would’ve sunk itself into his chest. The wet grin Freed offered spoke volumes, so when those yellow eyes refocused on the boys behind Kiba’s back, he had no qualms stepping back to cover them.

“You’ve been busy.” Freed rasped, stumbling to his feet, and sketching a lazy bow. “Why, if it isn’t my good friend, Homura- _san._ ”

“Hyoudou.” Issei reflexively corrected. Kiba bit back a curse as Freed’s grin widened. 

“ _Hyoudou-san_ , then.” He purred. “My pleasure to make the acquaintance of yourself and your friends.”

Matsuda tossed up a limp wave. “Hey.”

Freed finally straightened with a grunt, revealing tattered vestments and a disturbingly large shock collar gracing his throat. “Say,” he rolled his head, popping his neck loudly. “You wouldn’t happen to know where a Miz _Kanna_ is, would you now?”

Kiba’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

Freed chuckled, stepping around the shoes loosely scattered about the front step, stepping into the home in vibrantly purple socks. “Suspicions are warranted, certainly, but not right now.” He straightened his coat, almost absently. “I’m here to do my _proper job_ incidentally.”

Kiba raised a brow. “Priest?”

“ _Exorcist_.” A grin flashed it’s way across Freed’s face. “More than one kind of evil to cleanse. And I need to make a good impression.”

Kiba felt the beginnings of worry curdle in his gut, as Freed began mockingly tapping his chin with a sun-starved finger. “Ah!” He cried. “You wouldn’t know about that, would you?”

He hunched forwards and leaned in, despite being a full 3 yards away. “You see, we got a big-shot visiting.” He stage-whispered conspiratorially. “Very big deal, very hush-hush. We need to make this look good. Truce, you see? I’m all proper-like for the moment. Tell your bitchy master that, I did _like_ the last coat she dusted.” He dusted off his hands and winked at Kiba outrageously. Kiba recoiled as the man began inspecting the premises with open interest. “Be humble and polite my friend,” Freed purred, tracing the stains left by a generation’s good living. “We are, all of us, _in partibus infidelium_ , and God _save_ any who step out of line. I think it’s a sentiment we can all appreciate.” He made the sign of the cross on his chest, and Kiba felt the pain like a physical impact.

He was hopelessly confused by this, but Issei had larger concerns. 

“Aren’t you a bad guy though?” Issei asked, intrigued. “I didn’t think you were the sort of guy to play nice.”

Freed flapped a hand dismissively. “Believing in a villain is _so_ passé. We’re all in it for ourselves.” 

“So you _don’t_ kill people you dislike?” Kiba cut in irritably.

Freed’s eyes widened. “Good _heavens_ no! I’d _never_.” He clicked his back teeth slyly. “We have a city for that, you know. ‘Las Caras’ down in Cali-for-nay-ay. We hang the sinners there. It’s a good time. You should visit, we’d roll out the red carpet an’ everything.”

“There hasn’t been a devil in California since Prohibition.” Kiba grunted sourly. He eyed the priest, who whistled innocently. “I think we both know why.”

“Who said anything about devils?” Freed grinned. “Plenty of priests to go around. No shortage of sinners.”

Kiba felt sick, but the implications sort of flew over the heads of the peanut gallery. Probably for the best, Kiba soothed himself, as the boys shot their hands up.

“Who the hell would a priest like you call a sinner?” Matsuda asked, morbidly fascinated.

Freed hummed, bending over and pulling out some spare indoor shoes for guests. He seemed oddly focused on manners, Issei noted absently. He’d even wiped his shoes on the front mat.

“An angel...?” He said absently, tilting his head from side to side. “Something like that?”

“So you’re a contrarian.” Motohama said drily, glasses flashing. He practiced, Issei knew, for the rare occasion he was allowed to be smug. It was a decent effect, he admitted. 

Freed’s lips thinned, and he tilted his hand side-to-side, looking thoughtful. “Not really. I’ve seen one.”

Issei felt his brows shoot up into his scalp, but Freed acted like this was something obvious. Perhaps it was, Issei mused, eyes darting to the left and peeking at the devil to his left, staring at the priest with narrowed eyes.

“It’s the reason I left the church you know?” Freed mused, cracking his knuckles slowly. “If there’s a sinner in this world, it’s surely them. It’s unfair you know? They kill people, same as you or I. But they lack it, that something that defines us.” He squinted a bit. “They don’t have <malice>, you know? It’s a cop-out, and one they can’t even help. It’s infuriating. A man can’t even hate a fucking devil in peace in that kind of atmosphere, you know?”

Kiba had clearly thought about it and couldn’t really see how this was a bad thing, replying with a contentious snort. But Issei thought that he could kind of see it. It wasn’t a _good_ reason or anything, but he could see what Freed was driving at.

“They don’t kill petty reasons, right?” Issei said carefully. “Every death is justified. That’s the ‘cop-out’.”

Freed chuckled, pleased, and adjusted his shock collar. “Lemme tell you something good. There’s more than one kind of malice in this world, you know? If you hear a shake in the floor and a roar like a demon, if the world grows small and all you see is white, then run. _That bastard_ won’t be far behind. He’s the kind of guy who could seize a title like ‘Protagonist’ you know? He’s here, in this very town, and he’s looking for something. I don’t know what it is, but he’ll kill you if you get in his way. He’s still a baby for the moment, but he’ll certainly grow into a terrible demon king someday.” 

Kiba made a difficult face. “Saying something like that to someone in a Gremory peerage...”

Freed chortled. “Oh, come off it. Sirzechs is different, you know that. That guy, they say he was born stronger than anyone since Sirzechs himself. So, really, you should be safe as long as you can _heel.”_ Freed leered. “ _Necessitas non habet legem,_ eh? Who could hate a man like that?”

“I can.” Kiba replied curtly. 

“Regardless.” Freed continued smoothly, breaking down into quiet snickers between sentences every time he looked at Kiba’s face. “Needs must, and we all have a role to play in the coming days. Even _I’ll_ do a job once paid. I’m guessing you killed all the little shitters cluttering the place up, considering that we’ve been standing here for ten minutes and nothing tried to set us on fire. But there’s more to my work than just that. So _step aside_.”

Kiba stepped aside quietly, and the boys, startled, quickly made room as the priest smoothly moved between them, a cylindrical tube dancing and spinning between his fingers, pulled from somewhere in his voluminous white coat.

“One more thing.” Kiba asked quietly. “Who hired you.”

The priest paused on the threshold, cloth gently rippling around him. 

“Some girl.” He snapped his fingers, a smirk on his lips. “ _Aiiiiii_ ka. That was her name, maybe. _Ciao_ darlings.”

And then he was gone, striding powerfully deep into the dark home.

Kiba breathed out slowly, eyes narrowed. The boys, on the other hand, were suitably impressed.

“Holy shit, is this a power play?” Matsuda’s eyes widened to dinner plates. “Is Aika making a power play?”

“Yo, we’re _goons_.” Issei said, awed. “That’s so cool.”

“I feel a little degraded.” Motohama admitted. “I mean, we’re taking this for minimal pay, right? I feel devalued man. It hurts my feelings a little.”

“We’ll ask for hazard pay.” Issei soothed. He cheered up at that.


	21. Aika Kiryuu is unrepentant

“As a human being, I’ve peaked.” Sona droned. “All that’s left is to gain power as a devil. ‘Marry some high-class prick Sona’, ‘Sit in the corner of the room and cultivate for 40 years Sona’.” She carefully adjusted the cushions supporting her lower back before slumping back into her chair, the large leather and canvas affair dominating her petite form. “It’s all downhill from here,” She sighed. 

Rias said nothing, her long legs swinging bare on the little carpet rolled out over the student council room. She sat to Sona’s left on a little barstool, who remained behind her desk, signing papers almost unconsciously even as she pored over them with an empty gaze. Rias hummed as she poured herself another cup of tea from a carafe Tsubaki had put out before pointedly showing herself from the room. The table it sat on was small, made of a strongly fragrant wood she couldn’t recognize. 

“And the children,  _ lord _ the children.” Sona groaned. “Running around with their homemade nicknames, screaming ‘Princess!’ ‘Princess!’ ‘Princess!’ and all kinds of shitty-”

“So-chan...”

“Sona!” Sona raised one hand demandingly. “A nickname as cute as that, friendship will certainly be assumed! I deny all involvement with you!”

“Whatever.” Rias discreetly rolled her eyes, readjusting her position on the stool thoughtfully as she asked, “Where did you get this stool? It’s  _ so _ cute.”

Sona looked at Rias with an irritated eye. “Momo brought it by, apparently it’s  _ actually _ called a Tea Stool.”

“That seems somewhat reductive.”

“It’s a stool!” Sona snapped. “What does it matter?”

“Well,” Rias shrugged. “You can’t tell someone to drink coffee or eat lunch on the Tea Stool, can you? It’s a Tea Stool, not a Lunch Stool. If you told someone to go eat lunch on the Tea Stool, would you expect them to drink tea afterwards? Would you be serving it? It would be terribly confusing for everyone involved.”

Sona looked disapproving, but relented. “Fair enough. It’s called a barstool now.”

“But this isn’t a bar.”

“Are you, or aren’t you being served?”

“On the tea table, you mean? Or is it the bar table now?”

Sona audibly ground her teeth. Rias smirked a little wider, and sipped at her lukewarm tea.

“Saji made the tea, fair warning.”

Rias spat it out violently, coughing through teary eyes as she glared at a visibly undisturbed Sona. 

“You  _ could’ve _ warned me!” She snapped. Sona deliberately turned her head away, perhaps allowing her shoulders to shake the slightest bit, and said “I saw no reason to.” Her voice shook not an iota. “Did you have an issue with a member of my peerage?”

Rias went pale with anger. “See if I ever save you from his cooking again.” She grit out. “Next time he fries a dishrag in with the tempura, you can  _ have _ it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“ _ Bitch _ , at least  _ my _ peerage loves and-”

It was at this point that Kiba strode into the room. Please make note of the fact that he was slightly sweaty, eyes darting about as though watchful. The clearly guilty-looking boy moved like lightning but still tried to make it look stylish. Alas, his attempts were in vain, he tripped over a second foot-high Ming tea stool and landed on his face. Even then, he was handsomer than Issei, as noted by impressed passersby peeking through the door. How sad, Issei.

Standing quickly and dusting himself off, he turned to his President, who smugly opened her arms to greet him gladly.

Instead, a pack of embossed photographs of an unwanted young girl slapped her clean across the face as Kiba tossed them at her. Clearly distracted, the boy stumbled over the table once more and meandered out the door with no small urgency.

Rias paused and watched him go, laminate pages sliding off her porcelain features, before whirling around teary-eyed.

“Sona! My children don’t love me anymore!” Rias wailed, stamping her feet. “I knew it! I knew they took it badly! You said they’d understand!”

“I live to die a meaningless death.” Sona groaned, violently shoving a third of her paperwork bodily off the table into a bin marked ‘triplicate’. “I knew you were here for something inane. Are you still on about-”

“ _ Yes! _ ” She howled. “Can’t you tell how broken up about this I am?!”

Sona sighed, exhaustion deepening the lines of her face. “It somehow escaped me.”

“Make it better!”

“Take it up with Saji or something, he’ll let you cry on his shoulder. Horny little gumby that he is, it might even get him off my back for a day.”

* * *

Issei rapped loudly on Kiryuu’s front door. “YO KIRYUU, WE GOTTA- wait hold on.”

Motohama and Matsuda stopped attempting to peer through her living room window. “What?”

“How’d we get here?”

“I recall giving you the address.” Kiba said, standing well outside of the gate, leaning against a light pole. “I feel slightly ashamed for doing so, but sending people into a possessed house is fairly beyond the pale.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Issei frowned and leaned away from the door. “How did I graduate my own lifestyle to the point where  _ I _ can knock on a girl's door? This is cause for celebration. Where’s the  _ soju _ , we should be trading cups before we ring the bell or something.”

Motohama and Matsuda turned and continued looking through the window, ignoring Kiba’s disgusted expression. The bald one turned and said “Goddamn is this place nice.”

“They’ve got a big TV and everything.” Motohama agreed. “Yo, I saw this model toaster in Akihabara man, it was like 20000 yen.”

“‘Dude, that’s a Balmuda man.” Matsuda squashed his face into the window. “That’s a goddamn steam toaster. What ‘ _ just a toaster _ ’.”

Issei felt a grand puzzlement welling up, vocalized as, “Dude, it’s just toast.” He stepped back a little as the two at the window turned to him.

“Toast.” Motohama looked almost offended. “ _ Just _ toast? You bread pleb, I bet you microwave your sandwiches.”

“Sickening.” Matsuda shook his head. “Moto-chin, tell this fool.”

“I own three.” Motohama blandly confirmed. Issei whirled around, betrayal writ large across his face at Motohama’s serious expression. “Subpar toast is dry and crumbly man. It’s like hard, or soft in odd places, rips like paper easily and shit just falls out. Steamed bread cooks out-in, so the outside toasts while keeping the inside mois-.”

Issei whirled around and began hammering at the door. “KIRYUU! KIRYUU AIKA!” He screamed. “OPEN THE DOOR. I CAN’T BE OUT HERE, LET ME IN!”

“-ark rye easily toasts the best with a little butter, if you can tolerate the medioc-”

“ _ NO! _ ” Came a muffled yell from inside. “ _ I HEARD EVERYTHING! YOU’RE ALL DEAD TO ME YOU FUCKING BREAD OTAKU! _ ”

Motohama stopped, looking a little hurt.

“LET ME IN, DAMN YOU!”

“Matsuda-kun, did you say that toaster was 20 _ 000 _ yen? Did you miss a zero?”

“Cross me heart.”

“That’s like, three times what she owes us.” Motohama held up his fingers, ticking them down as he calculated. “Four ways that’s...4000 yen a pop?”

“5000 yen.” Kiba corrected.

“Shut up nerd.” “Piss off.”

“I also get a bonus.” Kiba continued diffidently. “Royalties.”

““Why?!””

“I did all the work.” He said. Everyone outside fell silent for a second, studying his expressionless features. 

“Aw shit.” “Goddamnit.” “Is it too late to reneg-”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.” Kiryuu kicked her door open, taking Issei clean across the face, who fell to his knees whimpering. “Holy hell, get  _ in _ , what if the neighbors think I’m weird?!”

“You  _ are _ weird.” Issei said nasally, working out the brand new kink in his nasal passage with a finger. “What’s new there? Just accept it.” He swore something popped as he worked his little finger in.

She rolled her eyes, and urged them in. They trooped inside single-file, taking in the relatively normal house. Issei wiped his fingers on a rug that looked more expensive than his entire room, and took a deep joy in the flicker of disgust that crossed Kiryuu’s face.

“Where’re the dildos.” Matsuda asked, almost puzzled as he took the parlor in.

“Upstairs.” She rolled her eyes and slammed the door behind them. “Next time, just ask for the money at _ school. _ Anyway, how much?”

“30000 yen.” Kiba said calmly. Kiryuu didn’t argue, and there was a moment of incredulity among the goons as the two shook hands.

She turned away, saying blandly, “Let me go get the mon-.” 

“Wait.” Issei interrupted “Hold on. Are you not at all curious about that little job? You just shelled out, like, a year’s allowance, to basically sweep someone’s house.”

Kiba discreetly rolled his eyes, but the goons seemed somewhat troubled to take her money. Kiryuu snorted and stomped upstairs, and began loudly rifling through drawers. 

“What the hell is she-” Issei turned and spotted Motohama and Matsuda slowly sliding sideways into the kitchen. “Motherfu-are you guys  _ seriously _ going for the toaste-”

_ “Shut the hell up _ . _ ”  _ Matsuda hissed. “I’m just looking at it,  _ just looking. _ ” He added for a suspicious Kiba’s benefit. “Moto-chin says it’s limited edition, only like three of these even came out or something.”

“Get out of there!” Kiba hissed back, looking nervously at the stairs. “Where are your manners?!”

“I just wanna- _ let me just lick it or something there are crumbs on it- _ ”

“Get-” Issei seized Matsuda by the collar, who was restraining a desperate Motohama by the gut. “ _ Get out _ man what is  _ happening _ to you.”

Motohama whimpered. “I’ve never  _ seen _ one man, it’s like actually a deluxe edition, it’s at least 5,0000,000 yen or something, I just saw the embossing on the lid-”

“ _ Yo, _ ” Issei hurled Matsuda aside and went for the toaster himself, before Kiba dove for him, and seized his shoulders, hauling him back as Issei kicked and struggled. “Leggo Kiba! Dude that - I bet it has like  _ gold heating coils or something _ -”

“-I bet it uses  _ scotch _ instead of water-”

“No -  _ stop struggling Ise-kun you can’t take her toaster _ -”

“-I bet she got like a whole case of sushi when she bought it-”

“Actually.”

The room went dead quiet as the struggling boys turned to a deeply amused Kiryuu walking down the stairs. 

“I didn’t buy it.” Kiryuu said idly. ”It was a trade. So I wouldn’t know.” Her hand slid down the rail as she skipped downstairs, waving a wad of bills with the other.

Motohama whimpered. “How?”

She landed with a little hop and threw her hands up. “I snitched.” Kiryuu looked up grinned, and  _ all _ her teeth shined. 

The boys recoiled like she’d struck them.

“ _ No _ .” Issei whispered.

“I did.” Kiryuu gloated, striding over and fanning herself with the bills. “I snitched  _ so _ hard.”

“ _ Narc _ .” Matsuda hissed, holding up his fingers in a cross and backing away. “How  _ could _ you.” Kiryuu leered at him, and crossed her arms. “You think specks over there wouldn’t.” Her foot snapped out and gently struck Motohama on the shin.

The two looked down with some disgust at his quiet keening.

“He doesn’t count.” Issei said confidently, looking up and pointedly away. 

“ _ I _ never got a toaster.” Kiba mused, reaching between them and snapping the bills away from Aika. She let them go happily, and he began counting them. 

Issei shot Kiba a horrified look he refused to acknowledge.

“I narced someone out  _ extra hard _ then.” Kiryuu said smugly. Kiba frowned as he looked at her.

“ _ How _ hard.” He accused. 

Aika thought about it. She hemmed and hawed, rapping her chin like a metronome. And for a moment the light shining on Kiryuu’s face seemed to highlight the dark shadows under her eyes and about her mouth. “She may have killed someone.”

Kiba’s eyebrows shot into his scalp. “That’s a great narc.” He said, impressed.

“I can’t handle the powerlevel of this conversation.” Issei whispered, gently closing his eyes and turning away.

“I  _ know _ right.” Aika said enthusiastically. “I didn’t regret anything, and the guy gave me a really good toaster too.”

“ _ Why? _ ” Motohama croaked. Kiba echoed the question, curious.

Kiryuu thought about it. “Well, I actually asked him to lunch.” She admitted. “He was  _ really _ hot.” She pointedly avoided their eyes as she cleared her throat. “But like, I don’t think he got it? He said he was bad at cooking. Then he dropped off that  _ thing _ -” she waved at the toaster idly, “-and told me to make myself a sandwich.” Kiryuu sighed heavily. “Wasted. Those good looks are wasted. The sandwiches are pretty damn good though.”

Kiba nodded understandingly. “Makes sense.”

“Hold up.” Matsuda requested, holding up a hand. “Wait,  _ what? _ Someone  _ died _ ?”

“Oh my god, you  _ didn’t notice.” _ Kiryuu squeezed her eyes shut and clamped down on her lips, making little moaning noises.

“W-well.” Matsuda looked flustered. “No one told me?” Issei, who also hadn’t noticed, quietly cheered him on. Fighto Matsuda! 

“Dude, it was a classmate.” Kiryuu put her hands on her hips and cocked them, looking already more tired. 

Matsuda nodded in understanding. “Who?”

Kiryuu rolled her eyes.

Motohama nodded wisely, slowly standing. “Yeah, didn’t you know morons?” He smirked. “I put it together as soon as I saw her name:  _ Kanna _ .”

“No wonder she died, her house was cursed to shit.” Issei said, impressed. “How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t.” Kiryuu crossed her arms defensively. “I didn’t send you to her house at all, since the girl who died was named  _ Aoba _ .” She glared at Motohama, who pretended the couch was on fire. “I sent you somewhere that needed it more.”

“Oh?”

“Her killer. Probably. Maybe. You  _ did _ say it was cursed, right?”

“SHOCK!” Issei screamed, throwing his hands in the air. Matsuda began coughing violently, turning away as he gradually turned red.

Kiba looked deeply unimpressed.

Motohama pushed up his glasses with trembling fingers. “ _ Why _ ?” He asked weakly.

Kiryuu looked deeply unimpressed. “Because I promised.” She grumbled.

Now, that was an entire suitcase of baggage. Issei decided against poking it with a stick, a decision he mentally lauded as probably his wisest ever. “We found her name,  _ Kaede Kanna. _ ” Issei said instead. “Why the hell don’t I remember her? She went to Kuoh, right?”

Kiryuu shrugged. “She didn’t draw much attention, I guess.”

The room went quiet, and Issei started a little, jabbing Matsuda in the side. The bald one jerked up, opening his mouth to curse until Issei jerked his chin at Aika. Matsuda stopped and squinted at the girl. It took a second but eventually his eyes popped open a little wider, and he turned and swiftly kicked Motohama in the shins. The specked one turned, angry, until the boys gave him the Nod. 

Motohama got it, immediately pasting a gormless expression on his face as he took a deep breath, and cracked his neck. It echoed like muddy gunshots. “It’s always the quiet ones.” Motohama said bravely.

There was a beat of silence, as Issei and Matsuda traded grim looks, before turning to Motohama.

“Motohama-chin, if you ever feel the urge to stab someone-” Issei began sweetly.

“Start with Issei.” Matsuda cut in sharply. Issei whirled around, loud injury plain on his face, before turning back to Motohama.

“Matsuda ate your last  _ dango _ .” Issei said. Matsuda swelled like a bullfrog with indignation.

“Ise used your toilet and didn’t flush.”

Issei sputtered angrily. “Matsudai stole your Hitomi fanclub poster.”

_ Wait, that’s true!  _ Matsuda’s eyes seemed to widen in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously. “Ise rubbed his balls on your atomic purple gameboy.”

‘ _ Why the fuck would you tell him that?!  _ Issei mouthed, actually turning red with anger. “Matsuda ate all your cookies and replaced them with saltines he licked the salt off of.” 

Matsuda chose not to address that point, sensing detente was about to go hot, and whipped around for the nearest victim.

“Kiba got a love note from Marina.”

Issei paused and turned to an immediately guilty-looking Kiba who looked slightly lost. “I didn’t ask her to?” He said nervously. Their eyes narrowed, a true fury burning in them as Motohama started hopping from foot to foot with a dark expression bubbling on his face. Issei, shooting a look back, desperately buried his anger and gave Kiba the Nod, but it seemed beyond his strength. Thinking fast, Kiba pointed at Issei.

“Ise-kun stole your backpack and replaced your sausages with spam.”

“Matsuda took a dump in your potted plants.” Issei said immediately.

Motohama began clapping, and the sound was a bit like Satan’s spoon ringing the dinner bell. All the hounds grew turbulently angry.

_ What the fuck _ screamed Matsuda’s face, and he immediately began advancing on Issei’s position. Issei started sweating hard, shot Kiba a look. “Kiba told the girl’s locker room where the peep hole was.”

The look said  _ take the fall for me _ .

_ No,  _ replied Kiba’s eyes. “Ise-kun threw up in your shoes Matsuda-kun.”

Issei’s eyes sharpened to steel. Motohama and Matsuda approached with murder in their eyes. There was no surviving now that they’d gotten real; it was every man for himself.

Issei puffed his chest out and snapped a mental salute to the spirit of his grandfather. “Matsuda peeped on your mom in the shower.”

“-”

Motohama slowly turned to Matsuda, and the look in his eyes was dead.

“-”

Matsuda flinched.

Motohama howled like an injured beast, and drove a fist as deeply into Matsuda’s gut as it would go. The boy doubled over, violently retching, and Issei screamed in horror as Motohama charged him. He turned to run, but the runaway train was already breathing down the back of his neck and suddenly all he felt was pain. The clothesline was wholly deserved, Issei noted distantly, feeling only the gentle embrace of gravity as Motohama strained and lifted him entirely over his head, and spiked him into Kiba’s fleeing body. The sound of bones colliding echoed, cut through by only a quiet noise.

_ Snrk _ .

The four boys paused, and slowly turned to Aika Kiryuu, who was doubled over, and shaking with quiet laughter.

“That was fucking terrible,” she informed them, and burst into guffaws.

Expressions unchanged, the boys slowly crawled together and raised a hand, exchanging quiet high-fives.

* * *

“You’re all morons.” She informed them heartlessly, seeing them off from her doorway. The three turned around, still pushing the gate open.

“Uncalled for.” Issei informed her gravely.

“I sent you into a killer’s home, and all you want is-”

Motohama cheerfully riffled a wad of bills.

“-payment.” She finished tiredly, honestly for perhaps the first time.

Matsuda shrugged. “Well sure.” He said idly. “You asked us for a proper job, yeah? Well, we handled it proper-like.” His fingers crossed behind his back.

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re fine with that.”

“You’re a bitch, Kiryuu.” Issei cheerfully informed her. “We didn’t expect much otherwise.”

“And that’s fine?” She pressed, and there was something a little deeper to the question.

None of them particularly gave a shit. “Yeah.” Motohama shrugged. “You’re fine the way you are Kiryuu. See you tomorrow.”

She grinned, and it took them a moment to realize she’d stopped hunching entirely. She smiled and it was...

_ nice. _

And then the grin turned nasty, and the boys stopped feeling flustered at all. “See you tomorrow morons.” She snickered, and they waved her off warily, stepping out into the street as she slammed the door shut behind them, laughing all the way inside.

“Think we fucked up?” Issei asked quietly, watching people walk by.

Matsuda nodded morosely.

“Should’ve asked her for a new gameboy.” Motohama muttered, shooting the other three filthy looks. They ignored him, turning to Kiba who’d already stepped out onto the street.

“You caught on pretty quick.” Issei cheered. Kiba still looked puzzled, but he’d cottoned on by the end.

“You have a  _ nod _ for acting like morons?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Motohama asked gormlessly.

Issei yawned and stepped out onto the curb beside them. “Never know when you accidentally scarred someone’s little brother and gotta cheer them up.” He briefly caught the panicked expressions on Motohama and Matsuda’s faces before rushing to add, ”Not that I would know.” He felt the heat burn under his collar. “That would be weird. Ha.”

Kiba grimaced, but chose not to comment. Instead he sighed heavily. “I feel as though I’m forgetting something.” He said thoughtfully. “When do the gates open?”

“6 am.” Motohama yawned. “For the clubs.”

Kiba’s eyes flared with interest. “Hm. I just remembered, something interesting may happen tomorrow.”

The other three paused walking while he continued, some degree of fear tricking down their spines.


	22. Yuuto Kiba hates uninvited guests

“Hold on.” Issei grinned, slinging an arm over Kiba’s shoulder as he went to leave. “Where’re you going man?”  
  
Kiba sighed as the impromptu clothesline reeled him back. “Home.” He groused politely, rubbing his throat. Standing, he shook himself out, offering them a polite smile. “So I’d assumed, Ise-kun.”  
  
Issei turned to face him, and Kiba flinched back. A massive fake pout graced Issei’s face, matched only by the identical expression on the two behind him. Motohama seemed to be struggling, however, and one corner kept curling up.  
  
“How sad.” Issei wept.  
  
““How sad.””  
  
“Nothing to do but go home?”  
  
““How saaaaaaad!”” came the echo.  
  
“This has the distinct flavor of a hazing ritual.” Kiba mused, edging away.  
  
They began to circle him, suspicious eyes peeking out from their flesh masks as they mimed tears. Kiba, who understood somewhat peripherally that this was meant to be intimidating, tried to step out of their circle and be on his way.  
  
Issei was suddenly in his face. “So what’re you _really_ up to then?” He said, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Only a guy secretly up to something else can play it _that_ cool.”  
  
Kiba turned away uncomfortably, but Motohama was standing to his left. He had an easy smile, a slick too-toothy grin that contrasted his cold eyes. “You look _tired_ bro.” He said, “Somethin’ up? Somethin’ on your mind? Take it _easy_ man, tell us what’s up.”  
  
“Nothing at all.” Kiba said stubbornly. “I’m completely free - I’m just a little sleepy.”  
  
Motohama stepped closer, clicking his tongue. He snapped his fingers twice in Kiba’s face. “Stressed. You haven’t been making eye contact all day, yanno? Got something on the noggin? Something to _hiiiiiiiiide_?”  
  
Disturbed, Kiba stepped back, but stumbled as something struck his lower shins. He twisted, but nothing appeared until he looked down.  
  
Matsuda was crouching on his other side, looking up at him with ghoulish shadows playing across his face.  
  
“ _I smell the scent of a successful man.”_ He hissed, and Kiba gave up entirely.  
  
“Actually, I’m feeling great and up for anything.” Kiba said, strained. “Did you have something else in mind?”  
  
Issei’s grin widened, and Kiba felt the two behind him match it like a physical heat. They drew their wallets, jostling and pushing as the stubborn card they hid behind their student ID’s stuck and refused to be removed.  
  
“Got it!” Matsuda cried triumphantly, waving it over his head before he flicked it at Kiba. The blonde boy snatched it casually out of the air with two fingers, a feat even Issei allowed himself to be impressed by for a moment, and scanned the contents.  
  
“This says you’re twenty-three.” Kiba said slowly, eye bouncing from word to word thoughtfully. “Why would you - oh no.”  
  
“Oh yes.”  
  
“Where- _when_?” Kiba said, scanning the card. “Where did you get this at all? _When_ did you plan this?”  
  
“You scribe malicious intent where none exists.” Motohama said piously. “We intended this from the start, and the presence of a foreigner to excuse impropriety ought not be considered more than the purest coincidence.”  
  
Kiba’s lips thinned to lines, but found evidence to the contrary scarce. “I disapprove. Heavily.”  
  
“Complaint logged, mon capitain. You’re still coming with us though.”  
  


* * *

  
“Cheers!”  
  
Three boys laughed and struck bottles together, as Kiba looked on with heavy distaste masking his features.  
  
His lips continued to purse into chalk lines as they began swilling the drinks eagerly. “This is illegal.”  
  
Issei shot him an injured glance. “It’s beer man. We didn’t even get any sake because you com-” Matsuda’s elbow struck him deeply in the chest. “-because it’s too much alcohol for us children. Aren’t we thoughtful?”  
  
“Very.” Motohama agreed solemnly. “ _I_ would never even consider it, personally.” He ignored Kiba’s accusing glance, instead offering him a generous measure with his other hand. Kiba refused distantly, seated atop a moral high horse so towering he was leaving his seat already.  
  
Issei yanked him back down, and cleared his throat. “Alright boys. So, we’ve had a busy few days-”  
  
Motohama nursed his aching hands absently.  
  
“-and some close calls-”  
  
Matsuda rubbed his back where the imprint of Issei’s knee had left a lovely bruise.  
  
“- and some weird-ass trauma.”  
  
Kiba clapped politely.  
  
“So, to 15 years - well wasted!”  
  
They toasted solemnly, taking long, deep swigs - before loudly retching and spitting it back up violently.  
  
The drink fountained out of his mouth as Matsuda howled in disgust, violently spitting back into the bottle.  
  
“It’s so gross!”  
  
Kiba, unruffled, wiped at his face while looking interested at this. “You’ve never drank?”  
  
“How could we?!” garbled Matsuda. “Even my blind grandpa can tell I’m in highschool, man!”  
  
“Then ho-” Kiba paused, narrowing his eyes.  
  
A chill ran up Issei’s spine, and he shot Motohama a warning look.  
  
”How old would you say I look, Matsuda-kun.”  
  
The boys started sweating hard, aware that Kiba was onto them. “ 17...?” Matsuda tried weakly.  
  
“If I went out there,” Kiba said sweetly. “And I asked that nice store owner what she thought, you think she’d think the same?”  
  
“Well, you know how it is.” Motohama said, interrupting. “Western faces man, who can even tell. She looked old. And blind. Why bother her.”  
  
“She took my credit card just fine.” Kiba popped a knuckle thoughtlessly.  
  
Issei stood up. “Damn I’m beat.” He announced, and loudly yawned. “I think Imma - _whoa._ ”  
  
Kiba seized him and yanked him back into his seat, before jabbing at the three of them. “You _did_ plan this.” He hissed, leaning over the table and whispering heavily. Issei shot the other two a discrete signal from his side. “How _dare_ you use me as an excus-”  
  
Matsuda jabbed him in the eyes. Kiba, startled, opened his mouth to yell, until Motohama jammed a bottle in and tilted up.  
  
 _Glug glug glug_ said Kiba, sounding more agreeable by the second.  
  
“Well said, man.”  
  


* * *

  
Kiba yawned, head lolled back and dozing. He rested his scuffed knuckles on the table, and Issei flinched away from them. He’d never seen a guy move that fast before, and he had no intention of ever doing so again. He slightly scooted away from the blonde boy, now fully away of how quickly he could move over the table.  
  
“Probably should’ve mentioned you were a lightweight,” Issei said, injured. “Y’know, instead of playing the cool hero card. Right boys?”  
  
The ‘boys’ snored a little. The shaved one dribbled a bit onto the table, the bruised half of his face open to the air and turning a lovely purple.  
  
“Damn right.” Issei agreed, rubbing his gut. “That _is_ shameful.”  
  
Kiba yawned a little harder, patting the wood floor and finding it pleasant to lie down on. He curled up a little, eyes flickering between open and shut in that way that made it impossible to tell. “Tomorrow’s annoying enough...” he mumbled. “...just want it over with...”  
  
Issei belched loudly, slightly beyond caring. “Man, you’re so damn secretive, it’s not cool at all, y’know?”  
  
“Yes it is.” Kiba muttered.  
  
He jumped a little. “So you _do_ think it’s cool.” Issei turned and raised a brow. “I don’t know if that’s dedicated or just really sad.” He paused. “It _is_ kinda cool though.” He admitted.  
  
Kiba groaned in agreement, then groaned a little harder, curling up and slowly sitting. “Let’s go elsewhere.” He said slowly, the edge of every other word slurring a hair. He slowly worked himself up to his feet, swaying a little. “I’ll grab Matsuda-kun.”  
  
“Whyyy?” Issei asked, fighting the temptation to lie down himself.  
  
“Because.” Kiba said. “I didn’t bring enough to cover any cleaning fees, Ise-kun. I’d rather relax somewhere with a lower at-risk fee.”  
  
Issei scrambled up to his feet as quickly as he dared, pausing only to seize one of his friends by the waist, as Motohama’s head rolled dangerously close to Issei. He burped a little, and Issei gave serious thought to dropping him and letting the police sober him up behind bars.  
  
“Damn.” Issei grumbled. Kiba moved quickly past, comfortably carrying Matsuda by his collar. Devil-strength sure seemed convenient. Issei grudgingly hefted Motohama’s deadweight, and slowly made his way out of the restaurant, where a relieved matron pushed past him to inspect the room before they could get away. It took a bit to pass inspection, but eventually she let them go.  
  
Kiba waited as Issei continued to shlep, already standing on the street corner and crossing. Motohama continued to flop inconveniently as Issei tried to catch up, nearly falling until Kiba slowed down and seized Motohama with his free hand, wrapping it about his neck and holding his head still.  
  
Together, they made their way slowly down the street, swaying slightly as Kiba appeared to be the only one capable of walking steadily; the only point of contention happened when they hung a left and Motohama barely missed Issei’s flats and vomited into a mailbox.  
  
They moved faster after that.  
  
The park was empty, this time of night, and Issei felt his shoulders relax as they rounded the walking trail and a familiar fountain greeted them. Motohama and Matsuda’s twitching bodies were left on the grass as Issei, relieved, ran up onto the fountain.  
  
He immediately slipped on the slick concrete. Taking a moment to slowly climb off, he steadied himself and pointedly ignored Kiba who was balancing on one foot atop the fountain ring. Instead, he began to walk a slow circuit around it, taking deep breaths and feeling himself slowly sober in the moonlight. He was still a little drunk, but the cloudy feeling that had come over him jogged old memories - and his mouth was open before he thought twice.  
  
“Hey man, you ever fallen in love?” He said suddenly. Kiba, startled, turned to look at him, hopping slightly off the rim of the fountain to sit on it.  
  
“No.” Kiba said, wincing as his pants promptly soaked through. “I haven’t - I’ve had other things on my mind.”  
  
“I have.” Issei pointed at where he was standing. “Riiight here, I think? Fell in love with some girl, I _think_ at first sight, it’s crazy.” He paused. “Maybe not _that_ crazy compared to other stuff, but I can’t stop thinking about her? I’m not sure why, considering I can barely remember it, and all I did was help...” _black hair black eyes a smile that warmed him to the tips of his toes_ “...help her with groceries.” He turned and looked around the park. “But I keep back to it, like, it’s _weird_ man!” Issei punched the air. “And she isn’t even, like, a good person! She’s some weird cultist! Hot though...”  
  
“Lots of things happen for reasons we don’t understand.” Kiba said muzzily. His eyes were drifting, unfocused, but he seemed to be making an attempt. “Though, really, it’s quite childish to grow nostalgic over a matter of a few months, when you fell in love... _so_ quickly.”  
  
Issei reddened. “Dude!” He cried. “Come on! All kinds of weird shit happened, like...ghosts and shit. That’s weird! Falling in love is much more normal!”  
  
“How embarrassing.” Kiba said drolly. “Though are you really surprised? You don’t exactly have good taste, Ise-kun, and the fact that your infamy didn’t precede you is already something to be celebrated.”  
  
“Man, fuck you.” Issei rolled his eyes. “ _What_ the hell do _you_ know about it.”  
  
“I’ve gotten at _least_ six wishes to drown you in the Pacific, and two more to secret you to Mount Fuji and leave you there.” Kiba began ticking off his fingers. “Only three of which can be attributed to the same person.” He waggled a leftover finger. “Frankly, it’s a miracle good sense won at all.”  
  
Issei suddenly found himself rabidly, morbidly curious. “You get a lotta wishes like that?”  
  
Kiba stood up, brushing himself off and only swaying a little. “Oh all the time.” He said. Issei got the sudden feeling that Kiba may have been drunker than he let on, if his carefree attitude was anything to go by. His ‘cool-guy’ guise was entirely done away with, beyond his favorite mask.  
  
“Typically, I answer all _sorts_ of calls.” Kiba continued, pausing for a moment as his brows furrowed powerfully. He seemed to shake it off after a moment. “The people that summon me, they trade something for something else stupid. Like a picture, or my phone number, or help beating Vergil in MVC3.”  
  
“And the murder bounties?”  
  
Kiba snorted. “Of course not. Ria-ah- _my master_ doesn’t make that kind of contract. It’s filtered out.” He brushed off his shirt again, this time almost absently, before freezing. “I’m also - not interested in that sort of thing, of course.” He cleared his throat hastily. “I, for one, cannot abide murder.”  
  
Issei rolled his eyes. “Do you know anyone that _does_?”  
  
Kiba nodded gravely, before immediately twisting into a shake. “Of course not. That would be strange, no?”  
  
“Eh.” Issei stretched his hands over his head, humming a little as he felt the strain, before slumping back down and smacking his lips. “I think I do, though.”  
  
Kiba’s eyes shunk to pinpoints, but he cleared his throat. “Wha-ah, who? Do you mean?”  
  
“Oh, that girl I was telling you about.” Issei said lazily. “I mean, I doubt they _actually_ killed anyone,” He said hastily, “but like, there are some weird-ass cultists in town, right now. Maybe they’re like gravediggers or something?” The night had already faded in his memory, details softening about the edges and falling apart in the middle. “They seemed weird, those priests.”  
  
Kiba groaned, rubbing his head. “Ise-kun.” He said. “Please avoid those people. They are...indeed, very strange. Actually, please avoid leaving your home at night at all.”  
  
Issei turned to him, rather startled. “Dude, are you joking?” Kiba shook his head, to which Issei threw up his hands. “Yeah, sure man. I’m gonna avoid having fun past sundown, cause some people are _weird_.” He rolled his eyes. “You know the sun goes down at like 6, right? Like hell I’m going home.”  
  
Kiba looked lost. “But...it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”  
  
Issei pounced. “Then help me get stronger.”  
  
Kiba paused. “What?”  
  
“Help me get stronger.” Issei repeated, growing more firm in the desire. It wasn’t about the workout - not really. A few weeks of training wasn’t going to accomplish anything.  
  
He wanted confidence. He wanted to walk around like Kiba. He didn’t want to be scared of asking someone out, or walking down the street, anymore. He didn’t want to be scared of his crush’s spooky cult friends tagging him with a shovel in a dark alleyway, cause they were, like, jealous or something.  
  
“No.”  
  
“What?!”  
  
“I won’t do it.” Kiba said, and in this he was absolutely firm. He’d sobered in an instant, _for_ an instant, and in that Issei felt his will was unshakeable.  
  
Issei bit his lip. “ _Why_?” He was bewildered, why would _that_ of all things be something Kiba was firm about. “Like, you said it was dangerous, right? But you’re a devil, surely you know a good way for me to get stronger right? Like, a cultivation manual or something?”  
  
Kiba hesitated. “You’re not capable.” He demurred. It was a bullshit answer, and they both knew it. “There’s no point, and you’d fall off.”  
  
“So it has nothing to do with whether or not it’s possible.” Issei scratched the back of his head. “It’s because I’m _not talented_.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You didn’t even _check_. You didn’t even let me _try_. Let me meet your devil friends and get tested or something.”  
  
“Absolutely not.” His eyes flashed a deep red. “It’s a terrible idea, and I don’t wish to do it. That’s final.”  
  
Issei ground his teeth. “Yeah? I’m no good then? You’re a pretty shitty wish-granter, aren’t you?”  
  
Kiba didn’t meet his eyes.  
  
“Luckily, I do have a wish for you to grant. Punch yourself in the face bastard, even _you_ can do that”  
  
For a split-second, Issei saw the world as Kiba must; everything slowed down, and he watched in slow motion as Kiba cocked back his fist and clenched it so hard the knuckles went white.  
  
Then all he saw was a blur and a starburst of pain.  
  
Kiba, refreshing grin plastered on and faker than ever, followed through, driving it through Issei’s face so hard his head rocked back and he reeled. The crunch was loud and Issei felt the bridge of his nose split, the hot wash making his teeth ache as he stumbled backwards.  
  
He swore loudly, clapping his hands to his face, the ache making him grit his teeth.  
  
“I think.” Kiba said, and the edge of his lips curled. “You don’t really understand what you asked for. ‘Getting stronger’, who are you planning to attack to prove it? What time are you planning to spend? When will you grow content?” Kiba’s eyes cracked wider for a second, and there was something unfathomable in them. “Rather, if you really want to get stronger, you might as well get used to this.” His knuckles seemed to creak ominously. “Rather than valuing what you have, ‘ _get stronger_ ’?I’m not sure you realize what you’re asking of a devil.”  
  
Issei worked out his jaw, and suddenly realized that he may have kicked the golden goose one too many times. He struck an epiphany right then; Kiba’s entirely unjustified and petty anger was probably borne of his small-minded hyperfocus on perceived slight. Thus, revenge was no good, because as soon as Issei pointed out how much he deserved it, he would inevitably gnash his teeth and stomp his feet and rationalize taking his _own_ revenge. Mankind existed on a cycle of loss and gain, and the only way to break out was to abandon the necessity of conflict.  
  
“Did you change your mind?”  
  
“Ah, I came to an epiphany just now. Instead, please jump off a building.”  
  
“Sure thing Master.” Quicker than a cobra, Kiba’s hand snaked out and seized Issei’s collar. “Shall we go?”  
  
Issei’s breath cut, and he felt his windpipe constrict as his collar closed around it. Vertigo seized him, feet going cold as he rapidly ascended, Kiba having effortlessly leapt to the top of the fountain with Issei in his grasp.  
  
He choked, feeling his feet dangle and kick uselessly into the open air, the ground small below him as his collar dug into his neck. Kiba held it up, and he felt the cloth of his shirt briefly give before a powerful hand seized him about the neck.  
  
“Ah, revenge is no good Kiba-san.” He wheezed softly, extremely aware of the precarious height and how, despite his sure footing, Kiba continued to sway slightly, inebriation taking the boy to unseen heights of irrationality. “Mankind exists on a cycl-” He cut off as the violent itch where Kiba had seized him increased sharply. Almost reflexively, his body went limp.  
  
“I understand Ise-kun.” He felt, more than saw, Kiba’s placid smile and dead-eyed look. “Thus, in order for us to come to an understanding and truly open our hearts, shall we jump from this together right now? Certainly, it’s no building, but it will do.”  
  
“That’ll probably kill me, won’t it?”  
  
“This too is a form of understanding Ise-san. For example, I will truly come to understand and appreciate the fragility of the mortal form. This will be a truly enlightening step, one sure to bring our two races closer together when I share it with the rest.”  
  
Issei desperately kicked his legs in the air, feeling himself slowly sliding out of his shirt. “Ah, Kiba-san, I’m glad to be the deliverer of such revolutionary news, but killing the messenger is in poor form, you know. We call this a diplomatic incident, you know.”  
  
“Ah, ever the martyr Ise-san. Alas, how else am I to carry out my duties? I need to stay by my master’s side until the wish is granted. Truly, I regret that this is a necessity, but your sacrifice will be a noble one.”  
  
“What a wonderful idea. Why don’t we both take a step back and discuss martyrdom as a means of furthering a cause.”  
  
“Frankly, I’d rather take steps to it right now Ise-san.”  
  
“Can those steps not be towards the edge?”  
  
“Ara? Weren’t you the one that asked for this? I’m only performing my duty as a loyal knight you know.”  
  
And then it was naught but the rushing rip of wind past his ears that caught his words, as Issei screamed at the approaching pavement.  
  


* * *

  
Issei lay on the floor. His soul, tethered to his mortal form only by stubbornness and a powerful desire for women, threatened to mutiny, break its bonds and soar to the great hereafter.  
  
“Please have mercy devil-san, you can jump off whatever building you want at your own leisure.” Issei tried weakly.  
  
Kiba sat beside his head, on the railing of the fountain once more. His head, balanced in one hand, rolled side-to-side thoughtfully. His head was nodding, sliding onto his chest until it jerked back up with an asymmetrical blink.  
  
The night was growing brisk, the streetlamps lighting up as Issei felt himself dangerously sober. Kiba seemed to also be sobering slightly, if the dawning look of regret and shame was at all familiar.  
  
It didn’t really stick, however, as his eyes were drawn to the same building he’d been reflexively looking at for the past few days.  
  
The church building, high up on the hill, was visible from the park. Issei kept watching the church on the hill, lit up with shadows moving in the windows. Had anything changed since then? Since before then?  
  
Had he really ever made a choice at all? Ghost hunting was great for karma, and the promise of angel tits could make a saint of even him. But, he had some time to go before then, and...  
  
“What now?” He asked dazedly. He laid his head back down on the cold sidewalk, and yawned heavily.  
  
Kiba sat up, swaying side to side, something impulsive about the action. “Do you really want to be stronger?” Kiba asked, “Really?”  
  
Issei blinked, and turned to him. Kiba looked more resolved than before. “What happened to ‘ _you’re not allowed to get stronger’_? Yeah, I do.”  
  
Kiba rolled his head thoughtfully. “I won’t help you.” He repeated slowly. “...but I can help you find a way to defend yourself. _Only_ defend yourself. And you’ll need to promise to avoid fights and walking about the city at night.”  
  
What was this nonsense? He wasn’t going to complain though; whatever mental hoops Kiba had jumped, it resulted in effectively the same thing.  
  
“I promise.” He must’ve been drunk, Issei realized, because he was being rather stupidly honest today. “But like, they _are_ the same thing yanno. I promise anyway.”  
  
“This and that are separate things.” Kiba said firmly. “Rather, defending yourself is only good sense. I will be busy tomorro-”  
  
“I’m joining you.”  
  
“-afte-what?” Kiba looked at Issei strangely. “I- _no_.”  
  
“Why wait?” Issei asked, narrowing his eyes. “What if something happens tomorrow? Shouldn’t I be prepared for what’s happening? Besides, you said something was happening, and I wanna know what. I promised not to stay out, and I’ll warn the boys too, but you gotta tell me why.”  
  
Kiba began gnawing gently at his lips, obviously conflicted. Issei kept staring at him, dead in the face, until a bead of sweat slowly rolled down his face, and he gave up.  
  
“Very well.” He sighed. “Tomorrow morning, 6. You _will not_ be involved, but I’ll see if Kone- _I can_ find a way to help you. What’s happening tomorrow - it’s private, but there _are_ things you could stand to know.”  
  
“Alright.” Issei said. “See you tomorrow then.” He waited until Kiba turned away to celebrate a little.  
  
Kiba ignored him, instead shaking out his cuff to look at a watch - and then standing bolt upright. “It’s past bedtime.” He said. He turned to Issei slightly, eyes narrowed. “I trust you can stay out of trouble?”  
  
Issei looked at him like a deer in headlights, pausing a moment, before shrugging very slowly.  
  
Kiba sighed and started walking away.  
  
“Tomorrow.” He called back.  
  
Issei slightly raised his head, watching him walk away, before turning it to look at Motohama and Matsuda’s fallen bodies by the side of the street. When he turned, Kiba was almost to the corner, moving deceptively fast.  
  
“Oh my god, he really did just have to go home.” Motohama muttered, fluttering his shut eyes open. “What a nerd.”  
  
Matsuda jerked a bit in his sleep, and snored deeper.  
  
Issei shrugged, and laid his head back down, already feeling his eyes draw shut. They slept there on the street, like babies, confident tomorrow would bring answers.  
  


* * *

  
Issei blinked as Kiba rounded the corner, looking as immaculate as ever. “You’re like, 10 minutes late.” He said in disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you late to anything in my life.” He paused, lips twitching into a grin. “Are you hungo-”  
  
“ _Shall we go?_ ” Kiba said, and he may have been smiling but the look in his eyes was glacial.  
  
Issei spun himself around, and began walking off. Man, Kiba wasn’t even the one the cops found sleeping in the park, how come _he_ got flak for it?!  
  
He yawned and rolled his neck. He was actually less sore than he expected, though the emotional piledriving his mom laid on him still smarted.  
  
“So where to?” Issei asked lazily.  
  
“The school.” Kiba replied. “Are Matsuda-san and Motohama-san not coming along?”  
  
“Those guys? Nah man, they’re way hungover. Moto-chin said he’d be at the game center later though, I’ll give him the rundown after.”  
  
They made their way down the street. Kuoh looked different, this early in the morning. Mist still hung low over the streets, and without the sun fully up, the shadows the old school building cast left the main building looking somewhat dour. The gate was shut, though as Kiba tugged on it, evidently unlocked.  
  
“Early morning clubs.” He explained, as though it weren’t obvious. Issei rolled his eyes discreetly and followed through, to where he was crossing the lawn and heading to the old building. Issei jogged a bit to catch up, slowing him down by clapping a hand on his shoulder and dragging him back. Kiba grunted, briefly windmilling his arms as Issei nearly pulled him off balance, before spinning around. “What?” He asked, slightly annoyed.  
  
“Where the hell are we going?” Issei asked cluelessly.  
  
Kiba deflated. “We’re going past the old school building to get something. We need to hurry.”  
  
“ _Why_?”  
  
Kiba looked bothered by the question. “A guest.” He said shortly. “A guest I’d rather not be around. If we hurry, we can miss it.”  
  
“But we’re go- _dude,_ ” Issei thumped Kiba on the shoulder. “ _Clarity_ man, the hell? You could _say_ that, I’m not dressed to impress. What if they show up?”  
  
Kiba paused, hesitating, before something lit up behind his eyes. “It’s a man.”  
  
“Oh.” Issei sagged. “Alright then.”  
  
Kiba muttered something under his breath, turning his head slightly away, before turning back to Issei with a visibly resigned look. “I’m in the occult research club, but I was given a leave of responsibilities following...” He hesitated, “Some personal events concerning the club president. It’s why I had so much free time.”  
  
 _‘to hang out’_ , Kiba probably meant to imply.  
  
“Aaaand, now you have to get back to it?” Issei guessed. Kiba looked deeply uncomfortable. “In a manner of speaking.” He said reluctantly. “...it doesn’t matter - neither of us will need to be around. Let’s move quickly.”  
  
He turned abruptly, continuing to march solemnly across the field. Issei, meanwhile, followed him while digesting what he said. If Kiba was so genuinely nervous, it was probably why he was acting so oddly the previous day.  
  
So who _was_ this guy?  
  
Issei trailed along, growing more curious, as they crossed the new building and into the large area between it and the old building. The ground grew more cracked, less maintained as they continued, not in any obvious disrepair, but certainly less cared for. The old building was made in an older time, and the materials used left the structure groaning in the wind. In this mist, it appeared to almost vanish at times, the uppermost parts almost entirely swathed. They crossed through, and despite himself Issei fell utterly silent, the looming mass weighing on him so early in the morning. No one else was around, no sound existed to break the atmosphere.  
  
However, they didn’t stop. Kiba continued to lead him, slim back vanishing into shadow on occasion as he took turns and movements Issei wasn’t prepared for.  
  
Eventually, they came to the other side, and Kiba led him into a slim alleyway running the length of the two buildings, concealed between several pillars and large trees.  
  
A door lay at the end of the corridor, made of a dark brown wood that gleamed even in the thin light, it looked rather expensive for the rough cement it was fitted in.  
  
Kiba moved towards this door, then stopped.  
  
His body stiffened, and at his sides, his hands suddenly tightened to fists. He slowly moved backward, turning away to walk towards a plant potted into a rotunda in the ground, and stopped.  
  
Issei stopped behind him, still curious and only growing more so, until he noticed the leaves were gently rustling.  
  
Kiba sighed.  
  
“Please come out.” He said, polite, yet somehow strained.  
  
The plant failed to respond, though the rustling ceased.  
  
“S-”  
  
Kiba sighed again, turning away and trying to hide the noise.  
  
“Sir Phenex.” He said lowly. “Please cooperate. Or I’ll have to tell Buchou.”  
  
A head popped out, blonde, square-jawed and smooth, irritatingly handsome and twisted into an expression of mixed fear and disgust.  
  
“You wouldn’t _dare_.”  
  
The nemophilist appeared aggravated, for a head. It bounced a little, huddling a little deeper into the plant.  
  
“Why is there a head in the bushes?” Issei asked.  
  
“Where else would I be?” The head seemed truly puzzled by this. “There is a non-zero chance of me going anywhere near that goddamn building while Sirzechs is in breathing distance.” The head turned to him. “By the way, who the fuck are you?”  
  
“Sir Phenex.” Kiba said, truly aggravated. “Please leave the floral arrangements, Lady Sona will throw a fit and then Lady Leviathan will almost certainly become involved.”  
  
Issei’s head spun as name after name was reeled off, but was somehow still shocked that the head turned out to have a body after all, rising itself from a deceptively slim-profiled crouch into the broad stance of a man with little experience with self-consciousness.  
  
Also, he was nude.  
  
“Can’t make a turn in this shithole without someone calling down the wrath of Satan on my head.” Complained the naturist. He seemed to take a grand self-pity on his existence. “Cor, what the hell am I supposed to do?”  
  
“Perhaps, if you are going to be _so early_ , a call would be in order.” Kiba’s lips thinned. “Please consider informing _anyone_.”  
  
Riser crossed his arms, towering over Kiba. “Hell no. Riser Phenex goes only where the girls lead and his heart wanders.”  
  
“What is happening.”  
  
Kiba looked strained, as he turned to Issei. “I’m very sorry, Ise-kun.” He said. “But I failed to take into account his nature before I decided-” He cleared his throat. “This, is Riser Phenex.” He waved a hand as the man struck a pose, almost reflexively. “My boss’s wi- _husband_.”  
  
“And a devil.” Issei said.  
  
“And a devil.” Kiba agreed.  
  
“Why is he naked?” Issei asked.  
  
“My harem burnt my wardrobe.” Riser replied, and Issei stifled his mental screaming. “I think they may have been mad that the marriage actually went through.”  
  
“Did they.” Issei said weakly, feeling rather punch-drunk.  
  
“I also welched on a promise.” Riser laughed. “I had to bribe them for the show. The show, yanno. But I had my allowance confiscated so I’m super broke right now.”  
  
Issei blinked. “Show.”  
  
Riser thought about it, then started snapping his fingers in realization. “Right. Right! You weren’t there. Whoops.” He playfully smacked his head. “Men just blend together, yanno. God I hate this world.”  
  
“You’re from another world?” Issei perked up, latching onto something he understood. “Like, actually another world? Like, hell? There’s a hell?”  
  
“Yep.” Riser cracked his neck. “Well, actually I’ve a newfound appreciation for this place - it’s nearly as bad. Sirszechs - that is, Lord Satan - keeps a watchful eye on me in the demon world.” He shuddered a bit. “Says ‘the day I touch his little sister is the day they render me down’. So I went wandering and hey - human world’s not so bad now, as it turns out!” He raised his head and took a deep appreciative sniff. “Yeah, not bad. You hear the Amazon’s burning down? Good stuff. It’s not bad, not bad at all. Lots of smoke and ash in the air.” He began taking long, deep breaths. “Lots of heat and burning and radiation too, to the West. My, this world is certainly becoming the kind of place I like.”  
  
Issei nodded mutely, and turned to Kiba. “Can I leave?”  
  
Kiba raised a limp hand. “Well,” He said weakly. “I’m not sure that’s possible anymore.”  
  
Issei looked at blankly.  
  
Riser stood, unfortunately proudly, and rolled his neck. “Damn right, it’s Riser time now, and as lesser devils you lot aught to serve me. If you leave, I'll kill you.” He turned to Kiba. “Though, question. You got mouthier _after_ I kicked your ass.” Riser frowned heavily. “What gives?”  
  
Kiba looked at him. “Watching Sir Lucifer reduce you to ashes seven times until you cried for mercy may have had something to do with it.” He said flatly. “As was his promise of violence should you raise a single hand against us.”  
  
Riser wilted. “Damn.”  
  
“That just happens, huh?” Issei said.  
  
“Yeah.” Riser said morosely. “Sometimes.” He sniffed once, twice into the air, before standing bolt upright. “Aw shit, you’re human.” His nose wrinkled. “Gross. Hey knight, kill it or something.”  
  
Kiba’s fingers were twitching to his hip, and if his smile were any shallower it might simply float off his face entirely.


	23. Having too much in common is also a problem: A day in the life of

To say that all roads led to the Central Kuoh Grand Shopping Complex was both poetic, and an understatement. 

Literally, the roads of Kuoh city had, over the course of three decades of expansion and slapdash city planning, come to revolve about the mall. Figuratively, it was also the heart of the city's economy, being the consistent moneyspinner to be expected of a large commercial outlet in a suburban city. None of this explained, however, _why_ it was considered the _emotional_ heart of the city. The best arcade was privately owned by a father/son business, and the local shopping and cultural center resided a full 3 blocks away.

Perhaps pathos may guide our understanding in this regard, if I said instead that all roads led to the Central Kuoh Grand Shopping Complex three-story FunTimeFiestatm  duplex McDonalds.

(10% off for couples)

Thus, Issei Hyoudou found himself living the high life, in the biggest dating hotspot in Kuoh. He could finally set foot inside without weeping from shame or waiting until 2 am for his nugget fix. 

Now, he felt unshackled. 

He was with a girl, you see.

Sure, his cheeks were aching and his stomach likely felt like it was making good on several threats at once, but he was the sort to bear it, to leave a good impression. 

This was, however, easier said than done.

There was no question that she was beautiful, no matter what she was doing. She had a careless grace that made anything she did seem effortless. Her long hair danced in the wind as she moved, burning auburn in direct sunlight. She had eyes like gems, skin as soft as flower petals, and tits like beach balls.

She was, in a word, lovely.

But if Issei Hyoudou was unashamed of his overt attraction to her, then he was equally unashamed of the fact that there were times where he rather felt like wetting himself. There was an absentness to the way she looked at crowds, as though she saw them in the abstract. She brushed people off too easily, dismissed them and ignored their sounds and actions like they weren't worth considering.

She was a devil, in detail, and result.

She wore her inhumanity on her sleeve, and now that he knew to watch for it, it was unconsciously, callously obvious. It set him trembling on occasion, when he said something and her only reply was those eyes, _looking_ at him, horribly blank. She likely meant nothing of it, but even the absence of intent could be terrifying, he’d discovered.

Indeed, perhaps it was personally something of a relief that Yubelluna was dating someone else, making it rather easy for him to simply not think about it.

* * *

_“Who?”_

_“My secretary, I suppose?” Riser scratched the back of his head. “She does my paperwork, helps me train, and occasionally dies for me. Have you ever had someone like that?”_

_“No.” Issei said defensively._

_Riser started laughing again._

* * *

By any metric, Issei himself likely wasn’t sure _why_ Riser had agreed to set him up. It hadn’t been _easy_ , but once they (read: Kiba) forced Riser into clothing and (Kiba) dialed for his little sister like Riser was a lost child, he’d had settled down into a sort of horror-struck existential despair.

Issei had wasted no time in quietly taking advantage of the poor man’s seeming vulnerability.

However, what rolled about his mind was a little stranger than simply that; Riser Phenex had agreed, seemingly on a whim. The look Issei had received in response to his request was altogether a shifty one, not at all what he’d anticipated. Just a look, and a rather odd conversation.

* * *

_“Why?” Riser’s lip curled. “Because you’re similar. Annoyingly so. The great Riser can tell already. So just do as I say; you’ll definitely get along. Eventually. Thank me when you’re done.”_

* * *

He had, naturally, taken it at face value at the time. Perhaps his mistake was in not asking for more information. He didn’t wish to ask Yubelluna, either. She scared him.

The pretty redhead never failed to stare Issei in the eye, when he chose to look back. She would stare straight back, and his eyes would fall to the tabletop, as he fought back a flush. He was perhaps the masochistic sort, in that way. 

She’d shown up in a rather flamboyant outfit, which likely contributed to his confused attraction, but somewhere along the way, she changed into something more understated. 

This made the problem far, far worse. Now he might have thought he stood a chance. It would be a mistake.

One she would make him pay for.

Fitting, ironically, Yubelluna herself had dropped all pretense that this was anything but an excuse to get out; punishment likely the only payback she’d ever try to extract from him. Indeed, she hardly even spoke a word, save to order her meal. 

Truly a shame. He’d yet to fall for her, however. Issei Hyoudou had a lifetime’s experience of being laughed at by pretty women, to break so easily now. His fear would keep him in check.

He stayed on guard as she continued playing with her food, still slightly worried this was somehow a setup. She dabbed a little mustard on her finger as he watched, absently curious, and licked at it. Her face immediately wrinkled into a pained frown. Issei snapped out of it and went to help her, reflexive pity kicking in as he pulled out a napkin from under his burger box, but she simply reached back and wiped her hand casually on the collar of the man sitting behind her. 

He froze, napkin outstretched, as she continued, bringing her digits back several times to make sure she’d gotten all the mustard out. Slowly, he sat back, and wondered if God wouldn’t mind just cashing in all that blasphemy and smiting him down right about now.

God did not respond.

Instead, one of their neighbors quietly lifted their meal, and shifted to a table further away. 

Issei got the feeling that this, perhaps, was not actually a setup.

* * *

Issei Hyoudou was on a date. Well, actually, he’d settled on the polite fiction of a ‘practice’ outing. But - even still, the thought of a day alone with a girl made his pulse race. 

He’d agreed on a place and time, and headed there impatiently 2 hours early. And yet - when he got there, someone was already waiting. She had a face that could chip ice and wore a cocktail dress that sprang from the dreams of Jean-Paul Gaultier fully laced. She blinked as he approached, as though _he_ were the unexpected part of this meeting. It took time for awareness to swirl into her eyes, as she must’ve realized that _he_ was the one taking her out.

He’d looked away, and hardly dared to look up at her face again.

Issei discovered a new kind of horrible anxiety that day. The lethargic, uncertain kind that leadened your limbs and made you wish to be indoors and safe. It weighed more heavily, every second that she looked at him and he couldn’t understand what she thought. It made him tired, and quiet, and really wish he could sleep on her thighs and never get up.

But something made him linger. 

The first time he locked eyes with her, he felt something entirely unexpected - a painful nostalgia that stung in his chest and made it _burn_. By the second blink, it was gone and forgotten. He’d buried it deep inside, where he put everything else he couldn’t explain, a great haphazard pile that only grew by the day. It was starting to grow too big now, creeping up his throat, and it was fit to cut off his breath entirely one of these days. 

Issei swallowed deeply, girded his loins, and went to meet his sorta date. 

It was nearing spring, that queen of seasons, but the sunshine that danced over her already approached the golden hues of late May. It was a sunny, cloudless blue.

Even dappled in searing light, his date drew his eye.

 _She’s taken, you fool. Don’t read into anything._

They went to a McDonalds, because he’d always dreamed of it and she seemed to not really give a shit, and sat down for a meal. Yubelluna, was her name. He’d read it off the receipt the cashier handed back. 

He’d briefly worried, in a startling flash of self awareness, that she might’ve been terribly insulted by bringing her here. Then she downed four burgers, one after another, to mild applause. It seemed there was no need to worry, and _yet._ Issei fought to pass wind unobtrusively and realized the sound of his chewing approached lawnmower frequencies. No relief was forthcoming as they finished eating, and they were still seated quietly in neon plastic seats. Issei rather felt like crawling under a rock.

He simply didn’t know what to do! His body felt stiflingly moist, unbearably warm, like all the blood in his body was rushing to his head. 

Unbidden, he absently reached into his pocket, and distantly recalled that _yes_ , he _had_ vaguely anticipated this and came prepared. He smoothly slipped out three notes he’d held on to. Good ol’ Kiba had slipped him some when he’d asked for advice, and these were his aces. 

Uncrumpling one, he read it carefully.

‘Offer jacket when outside’

This son of a bitch, it was _spring_. Kiba couldn’t have looked at the goddamn weather report ahead of time?

Oh god he was _so_ fucked. Were they all like this?

He pulled out the next paper. ‘Hug her tightly when you-’ motherfucker, he was asking for advice about a date, not how to get to second base. Carefully memorizing the advice anyway, he whipped out the third page.

‘Ramen?’

_Fuck._

He violently crumpled the papers and shoved them into his mouth, chewing with the fury of a man abandoned and swallowing with a deep and twisted satisfaction.

Burping a little, he turned to his companion, who seemed simply _enthralled_ with his newfound behaviorisms. Awkward, yes, but she was _looking_ at him. This was, as implied previously, a vast improvement over the previous state of affairs.

“So.” Issei cleared his throat nervously. “What do you do for a living?”

Father! Issei is spouting lines like a telemarketer cold-calling mother to get her opinion on the latest shampoo imports! This wasn’t how you said dates went! 

Yubelluna simply raised a brow, and didn’t reply.

The telemarketers may have had an easier time; Mama Hyoudou was as vulnerable as a nesting chick compared to this frigid young lass. Father, please start picking up the phone, Issei is starting to feel bad for those poor salesmen, they didn’t deserve this kind of icy reception.

“I mean,” he tried again, sweating a little harder. “You’re a devil, right?”

The question hung in the air for a second, before Yubelluna actually seemed to register it. She was sitting in a way that made her seem like the most important person in the room, and her voice had the confidence to back it. 

“Obviously.” She said loftily. Almost too much so for someone with mustard stains on their collar, but she still made it look dignified. Almost disgruntled at being caught out replying, she simply looked away.

She replied? She responded. Quite casually to boot. He’d been afraid she’d speak in sumerian or tongue twisters or something, but she spoke excellent japanese despite being obviously foreign. Quite the suave cosmopolitan, Issei was impressed! 

Come to think of it, Kiba and Riser spoke that well too. Were all devils better at japanese than him? How unfair.

“So do devils...harvest souls? What do they do?” He tried again, needling her a little. She was obviously proud of being a devil.

She sneered a little. “It’s a state of being, not a profession. Some devils do, some don’t.”

Oho. Issei could work with this. He put aside what she was _actually_ saying to digest later, lest he start shaking again.

“I mean.” Issei pushed, leaning forwards a little and speaking quietly. “Yeah, but, don’t you have jobs?” He peeked out of the corner of his eye, rather self-consciously, but no one seemed to be paying them attention.

Yubelluna blinked slowly. “Obviously.” She repeated, seeming impatience continuing to melt away to a kind of dull-eyed apathy. She seemed rather in disbelief about how little he knew. 

Come to think of it, what _had_ Riser told her? He was obviously not what she’d been expecting.

“Well then,” He gestured onwards, feeling the knot of tension in the back of his head loosen a bit. “What is it?”

She blinked slowly, again, a reflex he couldn’t identify. “I don’t have one.” She stirred a little, placing her hands on the table. A small gesture, but one that meant she was willing to play ball. “I’m...” she hesitated. “I serve Riser.”

The moment hung, for reasons Issei didn’t understand. Her eyes searched his expression of visible confusion, and whatever she saw seemed enough, because she visibly relaxed.

Some of the confusion Issei felt must’ve shown, because she elaborated.

“I don’t have to work to get paid. I mean, I _do_ , but I don’t _have_ to.”

More than the magic, or the immortality, _that_ was what got Issei jealous. “That’s not even fair!”

Her expression melted, lips _almost_ twitching upward before freezing it.

Something like a smile. 

The change was almost too much for Issei, who’d borne the brunt of her icy displeasure for nearly an hour now. He felt rather dazed.

Issei shook himself off. Later Issei, think later.

“He just _gives you money_.” Issei grumbled. “That’s so unfair. You can buy literally whatever you want for nothing.”

Hair swept like a curtain over one shoulder as her head lolled to the side thoughtfully. “You really don’t know _anything_ about Hell at all, do you?.” Her tone was wondering.

Issei’s head shot up. “Hell? Wait, I’ve been joking about it for a while, but you _actually_ live in Hell? Fire and brimstone Hell?”

“That’s the one.” She agreed, yawning a bit. “Didn’t that cute knight boy tell you anything? You seemed like friends.”

Issei loudly sucked on his teeth and waggled his hand side to side. “It’s complicated, but yeah. Not much though.”

“When isn’t it.” She muttered softly. “Anyway, Hell is-”

“- _Excuse_ me, miss.” Someone said politely. Blinking, the two turned around to see a young father and his family, seated in the booth behind them, staring at them. The little boy seemed positively enthralled, but the family seemed somewhat irked. The father, especially, had a thunderous cast about his brow. Yubelluna slowly stared back at him, watching the cloudbank grow denser with wrinkles, while Issei hunched lower in his seat, and cast a look about them. 

Sure enough, everyone around them had at least one ear and half an eye on their conversation. 

“ _Miz Yubelluna,_ ” Issei hissed. “ _I think we’re drawing attention._ ”

Yubelluna didn’t respond, except to twist fully around, put and elbow up on the seat, and stare the young father dead in the eyes.

“ _Y-yubelluna? What-_ ”

“Miss.” The man said, turning ruddy. “Please sit down, and-”

She raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

“-And I’d love to fetch you a second milkshake.” The man said, expression smoothing out to porcelain. There was a loud sound as people around them shifted en masse.

Issei blinked heavily, reeling slightly, rubbing away a sudden headache that formed betwixt his ears. “That was loud, wh-” He blinked harder and looked around, at everyone now utterly focused on their own wilting burgers. “-huh?”

The father stood up and duckwalked to the line, where he indeed began ordering a milkshake.

“...huh?”

“-as I was saying.” Yubelluna said, like nothing had happened, as she twisted back into her seat. “Yes, Hell is real.”

“...right.” Issei stared at their neighbors from the corner of his eye nervously. The handsome young man missed his mouth with a fry and it went up his nostril. Rather than try again, he simply continued forcing it in entirely.

About a minute after it had vanished entirely into the passage, he started chewing.

Issei wiped away a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, and turned back to Yubelluna, who’d continued speaking. “...only some parts of Hell are like that, anymore. The others bear a startling resemblance to medieval Europe.”

Issei chose not to tell her he hadn’t been listening, in case she took offense and killed him, or made him shit his pants or something. “Makes sense,” he said instead, “if they were alive then.” Issei rubbed the back of his neck lazily, thinking about what he _had_ heard. “Wait, does that mean-”

“-that luxury goods tend to be about as advanced for the most part.” She sniffed a little. “Indeed. Coming to the human world is seen as a sign of luxury among the younger devils.”

“Wait so,” Issei thought about it. “So...when you act like you’ve never done this before-”

Yubelluna went silent and shrugged.

“Aren’t you immortal? Don’t you have tons of free time?” Issei gestured outward. “You could come here, right?”

“Yes. But it has nothing to do with time.” She said softly.

“...?”

She shook her head and didn’t answer.

Issei worked his jaw thoughtfully, thinking of something he could say. Not even he could miss the pall behind her eyes. “So...that’s why Riser let you out on a date-”

She snorted loudly. 

“-with me...” Issei forced out, gritting his teeth. “You haven’t...”

She stared at him blankly.

“...I mean.” Issei avoided her eyes. “Whatever. Anyway. You’re here now. Why not buy something?”

She stared at him. “Do you have a currency exchange that converts from our money to yen?”

Issei slowly shut his jaw. Right. She wouldn’t be paid in yen. Issei himself didn’t have a lot of money after buying a fourth nude figma.

Issei slowly shut his eyes, and focused, feeling the 1000000 IQ supercomputer in his mind slowly spin to life, growing faster and faster as he closed the hundreds of threads dedicated to measuring Yubelluna’s bust size and cataloguing them with every other woman he crossed on the street. He watched them go in the darkness of his mind with a heavy heart, shedding a mental tear before he refocused - on scheming. Moneymaking was another pastime him and the boys got up to - they only had so much available for renting out porn, so it only took a bit before he was in the zone, generating plan after plan until he finally struck gold.

Issei’s eyes flashed open, the intelligence behind his eyes illuminating the world. Even Yubelluna was slightly convinced by his seemingly baseless confidence!

“You said you’re not registered as being employed, right?” Issei said.

“...right?”

“Then, why don’t we go collect your unemployment check?

She was struck dumb by the scope of his genius. Sometimes, he scared himself.

“Wait.” She leaned forwards. “Japan has unemployment money?”

Issei tapped the side of his head. “Only for the first 6 months after you lose a job. Which would only be a problem, if we were planning on doing this entirely aboveboard.”

Yubelluna was interested, despite herself. “How so?”

“You registered as a Japanese citizen, right?” Issei said.

“...right.”

“When?”

“Last week, I believe. We’re all provided pseudonyms for integration.”

“Well, there you go.” Issei clapped. “Just claim you were naturalized for some job, but they dropped you or something, and left you stranded. You’re covered.”

Yubelluna thought hard. “This plan seems to be extremely poor-conceived.”

“Probably all those things.” Issei agreed. She opened her mouth but he pressed on. “Since you’re leaving a paper trail, it’ll probably get investigated. But, and here’s the best part, just do-” He waved his hand at the dead silent McDonalds. “- _that_ , to whoever shows up to audit your paperwork. He’ll clear you, and you’re all good in the eyes of the bureau. Probably. Consult a lawyer.”

Yubelluna’s eyes were approaching her hairline. “How do _you_ do it?”

Issei coughed nervously, off guard. “Well, uh, the way we do it - we had these fake id’s made to go drinking, and old Sawamura by the station just hands out loose change if you card and look kinda broke.” Issei explained. “So we just put down the fake names we made up and collect. I don’t think he’s actually done his tax filings since the turn of the century.”

“That seems extremely illegal.”

Issei smirked. “Ken Shimizu doesn’t care. Ken Shimizu also only collects in 400-yen installments.”

“Huh.” Yubelluna leaned back, expression lightening up. “To think, I was led to believe free money was hard to come by in Japan. And this man simply passes out his own earnings?”

“Not really.” Issei admitted. “I think Sawamura steals most of it from the jazz player down on third block by the plaza. They don’t like each other much, which makes sense ‘cause that jazz dude is a prick.”

“And do you give it back?” She asked, leaning forwards a bit.

“A little, when he plays a pop tune.”

She smirks. “Not all of it?”

“No.” Issei said honestly. “Cause we don’t really like him. He ate my buddy Motohama’s dog, I think.”

“Because he’s poor?”

“No, actually, he just makes this really great spiced dog kebab.”

“You ate his dog?”

“Well, I wasn't gonna waste it just cause he was cryin’.” Issei defended. “He made _me_ pay for it. That was a month’s allowance.”

Yubelluna threw her head back and laughed.

* * *

“Man.” Motohama said wistfully. “How the hell did, of all people, _Issei_ land a date?”

“He never said she knew who he was. Could be a blind date. Or she’s just blind.” Matsuda grunted back, curled up into his seat with his head between his knees. “Or maybe he paid someone? I literally can’t think of any other reason a woman would associate with him in public.”

“I can’t handle the stress of this kind of high-pressure situation.” Motohama groaned. “This is terrifying. What if he comes back happy? I don’t even care why, any kind of positive outcome to this situation is a big loss. My heart and my ass can’t take this.”

“Why would you bring up your ass _now?_ ”

“Can’t you see how sad I am? I’m gonna go home and down a bottle of syrup, I’m so emotionally torn up, and that shit goes right to my hips. How am I supposed to keep my platinum figure? This bishie litheness isn’t easy man.”

“Certainly.” Matsuda agreed lazily. “He should pay for worrying this great Matsuda-sama.”

“Shall we round up the class?”

Matsuda raised his head blearily, and looked around the room. People were still streaming in, but small groups were already emerging. “Will they even help?”

“They’ll help.” Motohama grinned. “It’ll take some time though, but someone’s bound to take the bait. Allow me to pave the way. MAN, I CANT BELIEVE ISSEI HAD THE GALL TO GET A DATE AFTER PEEP-”

Hana-sensei slammed her hands on her desk so hard it cracked. There was a terrible fury to her eyes. 

(Several people had theorized that the reason she was growing unstable was because she was approaching menopause. Matsuda personally believed, and insisted, it was because she was an angry virgin, and accepted her as an object lesson. Regardless, her fury made the whole classroom shake)

Matsuda and Motohama jumped as their seats rattled, and grinned at her.

* * *

They were still snickering at the arctic atmosphere in the classroom, whispers erupting in staccato bursts as rumors made the rounds, when Issei slowly dragged the door open, eyes bloodshot.

They jumped again as he slammed into his desk, failing to operate the chair, before giving up and slumping into the wood tabletop.

Motohama immediately stopped laughing and folded his arms, almost a reflexive barrier to reality, as Issei began bucking his hips, trying to get up onto the desk without moving his arms so he’d stop sliding off. 

“Dude what.” 

Issei responded with an inarticulate groan. The screech of Matsuda’s chair grinding into the floor as he backed away from Issei snapped the entire classroom out of their fugue, turning to stare at Matsuda, then Issei.

Issei stopped thrusting once it went quiet, briefly looking up to make sure it wasn’t because of him, then double-taking as he realized everyone _was_ staring at him and sliding off the desk with a limp _thump_.

He groaned a little, collapsed on the floor, yet still seemed pathetically grateful for the cover it provided him. He scooted a little so he was under the desk.

The classroom was still quiet. Issei groaned a little louder, and started pretending he’d slammed his shin into the chair. Rolling over onto his side, absently holding the wrong shin, he kicked at Motohama’s chair and mouthed _what the fuck?_

Motohama shrugged innocently. 

Frustrated, Issei slowly peeked up, flinching as Hana-sensei’s deadbeat glare drove into his skull.

Motohama leaned in a little, whispering from the corner of his mouth. “ _She got stood up. Again._ ”

“ _Still creepy dude._ ” Issei whispered back.

Hana-sensei clenched her fists so hard her nails carved little furrows into the shattered wood of her desk.

“ **Take your seats.** ”

The classroom was seated and organized before she finished. She cast them a long, suffering look, before turning around to quietly begin class.

 _“Nice one.”_ Issei hissed at Motohama, who shrugged.

Someone slid open the door to the classroom, apology already out, before a bit of chalk exploded next to their head.

Hana-sensei played with her broken stick of chalk as the door slammed shut, looking around the classroom with eager eyes. 

“Anyone else...?”

Issei shut his mouth and did his best impression of a corpse.

* * *

“I want to go home, I think.” Issei mumbled, buffeted on every side by the endless crowds of Kuoh’s city mall. It was a common enough sentiment expressed in a crowd, yet failed to encompass the emotional depth behind its expression. 

There were, simply, too many goddamn people here. They overflowed from every hallway orifice and at past 4, more than half were Issei’s age. Worse still, it was entirely nerds and people on dates, since the club kids were still trapped for a while longer. 

He was so overwhelmed by his own self-pity that he forgot to keep up the pace. People began running into Issei as he unconsciously slowed down, and he could barely get an apology before another shoulder drove into his back and sent him spinning again. Bags weighed him down and kept his momentum going as he kept stumbling through the crowd, groans and quiet shrieks the only mark of his passage as he tried to find some respite.

Respite found him instead, deceptively corded arms seizing his shoulder and halting him abruptly. He barely had time to notice the space he now had to breathe before Yubelluna began walking away again.

Cursing a little mentally, he continued to hurry behind her, trying to avoid getting lost in thought. Why was Issei suddenly looking up and paying attention to all these people? Was it because he felt like he had less to be ashamed of when accompanied by such a beautiful lady?

Oh, yes, Yubelluna had agreed to a second date.

Well, actually, she’d said no when he’d reflexively asked as they ran into each other behind the school building. But, she’d said, she didn’t mind hanging out. 

Issei didn’t quite get what she meant, despite agreeing promptly. 

But, as he discovered, the difference was as nuanced as the weight on his arms, as _this_ time she moved at her leisure. She seemed far more comfortable, as she wandered the mall, looking into stores and only picking out her most earnest desires. 

Honestly speaking, there was simply nothing charming about it now that even the pretense had been done away with; he was being fully taken advantage of. 

He stumbled along, trying to avoid tripping over the bags, feeling oddly at peace.

Was it strange, that a nuance he’d failed to grasp still put him at ease? She wasn’t the intimidating figure she’d appeared to be, not with HOPELESS writ large across her indecisive features.

“How about here?” She mused. And she waited, until Issei realized he was being asked. It was a pattern that had repeated itself several times already, and every time it was surprising that she genuinely wanted to know. After all, she’d chosen this place because she liked it, hadn’t she?

“Sure.” He replied absently.

He flinched, as a little discontented frown played about her lips, before she sighed and swept inside. Grunting, at the weight of the bags, he stumbled after her, mind frustratedly a-whirl. Why was she upset?! He didn’t get it! 

He sighed a little as he dropped the bags, a kind shop attendant offering to let him leave them behind the counter as he wandered the shop. Quickly, he followed after Yubelluna, who was already browsing racks. 

Yubelluna turned as he approached, eyes snapping to Issei as she tossed something at his head.

Flinching, he caught it, struggling as it unfolded and wrapped around him. It took a minute to disentangle himself entirely and hold it up for viewing, revealing a turtleneck that had to be two sizes too large for Yubelluna herself.

“That’s the kind of thing guys like, right?” She murmured, walking away, already looking into the next isle.

“On women?” Issei replied reflexively, eyes darting from the clothing back to her. “Hell yes!”

She eyed him crossly, leaning back out of her aisle to look at him. “To wear.”

Issei’s forehead wrinkled, and he gave the shirt a dubious look. He stretched it out, inspected the collar, the lining, the elbow, and decided, “Not a chance.”

She snorted in disgust, striding over and snatching it away with a look of disdain. “Typical.” She muttered, tossing it on top of the rack and walking away. Shooting the poor, wrinkled shirt a look, he walked away quickly after her. Behind him, he heard one of the retail workers groan as he caught sight of the shirt, and sped up. 

He caught up to her as she walked out of the store, bags-a-whirl, slowing down to match her pace as she started looking around the mall moodily again.

Issei closed his eyes and counted to ten, feeling his loins clench themselves in encouragement. Snapping his eyes open, he turned to a grumpy Yubelluna. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

She sighed again. She seemed to want to speak, or maybe just beat his face inm, but struggled with something before seemingly giving up. Her face was a little lined as she turned to him, sniffing. “It’s nothing.”

She pushed past him, further into the mall, drifting absently from storefront to storefront, as Issei, caught off guard, struggled to keep up. 

Occasionally, when he managed to keep pace with her, he could tell there was something deeply wrong. There was something warring, deep in her eyes, as she looked about.

But she wouldn’t tell him.

Issei kept his head down walking on, before he suddenly realized he was alone. He turned quickly and walked backwards, grunting as people buffeted him, not expecting his sudden shift. He pushed through, squeezing between an elderly couple that shot him dirty looks, to finally spot where Yubelluna had stopped.

She stood by a Patisserie. There was a blank, almost empty look to her eyes as she watched them whipping up a sponge cake through the glass.

Issei sidled up beside her, coughing to get her attention. “Started in 1998, the Bellevue branch of a popular French dessertier in Grenoble began a eastward expansion when-” he wheezed as she elbowed him in the gut.

“Shut up.” She mumbled, still watching cakes rise. 

“You know you can buy one, right?” Issei grumbled, letting bags slide back and catch on his elbow, so he could rub at his sore chest. “You _have_ money now.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Is that why everything you’ve bought all day is for other peo-”

“Shut _up._ ”

“You know.” Issei said quietly, hand lowering. “He won’t know that you want him to buy you a cake unless you tell him. I’m not sure he even knows what a cake is.”

Yubelluna groaned slightly, fingers sliding up to pinch her nose.

“How do you swing between _idiot_ and _empath_ so easily?” Her nasal voice said, muffled behind her hand.

Issei chose to take that as a compliment.

“All I do all day when I’m alone is watch people happier and more successful than me, and pray to God that misery befalls them.” Issei replied honestly. “Which also means that I watch the unhappy couples closest. You hear a lot of lines like that, ‘How could you not know what I meant?! Are you retarded?! Obviously I meant buy _me_ the bracelet and not _her! Kyah! Kyah!’-”_ He shrugged self-consciously. “ _-_ That kind of thing.”

“You really are a sad little gremlin of a man.” Yubelluna mused, seeming somewhat impressed. Issei felt something deep inside wither and die.

“I hope you didn’t mean to say that out lou-” 

“Anyway.” Yubelluna shook her head, where the little bun she’d tied her hair into wobbled. “He _does_ know what cake is, and-”

“Hey man, I want a slice.” Issei called into the store.

Yubelluna reflexively thumped him on the back. Wincing, he rubbed at the sore spot, while turning to glare at her. “What?”

She glared at him. It was adorable, and he briefly hoped she’d cry a little. 

_Gap-moe?_

“I wanted a slice.” He defended, straight-faced. “We’ve been standing here for thirty seconds, I’m hungry.”

She continued to glare. Issei turned a little, looking at the baker who looked back at him with a superior look. Issei felt his brow wrinkle, irritated.

“Two slices.” He mumbled.

They were out in minutes, warm and soft. Issei thought to enjoy it while they walked, but Yubelluna positively inhaled it, before marching right back to the storefront. 

This time, she took great relish in carelessly ordering anything she thought might be tasty. The clerk shot Issei a lukewarm glare when Yubelluna paid herself, but eased up when she referred to him as her little brother. 

It was a fiction he was happy to perpetuate, as he attempted to passively comment on the vendor’s short stature as much as possible.

This time, Issei made sure to walk away quickly. He knew for a fact that Yubelluna hadn’t had time to embezzle _that_ much cash, and he was saving up to pay for a new drill bit.

(The swim team had taken to using sheet metal to stopper any holes they found; the ol’ rats in the walls excuse was either failing, or _far_ too successful. They’d need to make preparations more thoroughly)

This time Yubelluna followed, an expression of mild pleasure and a complicated mien of dissatisfaction playing about her brow. Given the chance to compass, Issei beelined for his refuge; the food courts.

They stopped at the mall cafe, and as Yubelluna went off for drinks, Issei collapsed onto the table, allowing the bags to simply slide off his arms with no small relief. Catching his breath, he found his own thoughts as complex as the ones he’d begun reading from other people. It was a rather pleasant surprise.

Yubelluna returned, two massive slushies in hand, smelling like a whole meadow of flowers in a hundredth the space. 

“You know,” Issei said, accepting his drink, with the deep satisfaction of someone else paying warming his chest. “You never told me what your job was.”

Yubelluna raised a brow, lips already pursed about her straw.

“As a devil. You said you didn’t have to work, but you did anyway.”

She took her sweet time to take a deep swallow, and think about it. “I guess...” She flicked some hair out of her face. “I’m a gigolo.”

Issei mentally registered the reflex as embarrassment. 

“Wow. Isn’t that a gendered-”

“No.”

“Oh.” Issei felt the urge to cough, and beat it back. “That’s...”

_I’m so jealous?_

“...nice.”

She grumbled quietly to herself, her aquiline features twisting a bit, before they smoothened out as she turned back to him. A hint of bitterness lingered in her eyes as she shrugged impassively. “It’s okay, I guess. I get money, food, lodging.”

“How long have you been...”

“Like, 6 years. I think.”

_Oh wow, is she actually not that much older than me?_

“That’s a lot of...” Issei attempted to gesture politely at her emerald necklace. “...customers?”

“Just the one actually.”

“Wait...” Issei started. “Wait, do you mean that Riser guy? He said you were part of his peerage.”

She shrugged. “Same difference, really.

Issei leaned forwards. “What _is_ a peerage then?”

Yubelluna leaned away, frowning. “Why?”

Issei found himself wanting to reply honestly. “Because...” He searched for the words. “Because it’s been staring at me for a long time?” How could he explain? For all that he considered Kiba a friend (and shock, he did) there was an icy wall between them, a line Kiba wouldn’t permit them to cross. It was _because_ Yubelluna didn’t care at all that he could trust her answers. They were truly meaningless to her.

Perhaps she couldn’t interpret his words, but something certainly made it through. She nodded slowly. “Okay.” She leaned forwards. “You want to know about devils right? Because you know them, but you don’t _know_ them.”

That was it exactly. How could he turn away from this world, once presented? Kiba’s expectations were simply too cruel.

She rapped her knuckles on the table smartly. “Then, let me tell you something about devils. It’s funny, that we’re stronger than humans, yet lagging behind in several ways, isn’t it?” She flashed a small smile, and it was all teeth. “You see, human civilization grew, and the quality of life _accelerated_. Devils, by all reports, failed to do the same. Angels, moreso. I hear the Fallen were the only ones who could really keep up and that’s-” she snorted. ”-well, no one’s surprised that a leech robs, are they? Look-” she noticed Issei’s expression growing cloudy. “-it doesn’t matter. Civilization expands, a surplus of time and space is discovered, and used to expand further. This is the perpetual motion machine of development, and it only grows faster and faster until the whole mechanism rusts away or shatters.” She paused here, finger rapping the side of the table to punctuate her thoughts. “And yet, why can devil society not do the same? Why do they lag behind? It is no shortage of creativity, I assure you. There were plenty of humans in hell besides, so even if devils _were_ prone to sloth, the system wouldn’t fail so suddenly.” A frustrated expression crossed her face. “The answer: an external force, an obstacle that returns again and again to bar their path. War, Devils were at war, and only now have they reached an unsteady truce, to collectively gather their thoughts and allow a new font of creativity to erupt.”

“You’re at _war_?”’

“ _Were_.” She stressed. “Might still be, but for the moment we are _not_. It’s an uneasy truce. After centuries of battle, peace doesn’t come easy to them. Understand, Issei, they’ve been confronted with an unprecedented opportunity, and many simply do _not_ know what to do with it. Your friend is more fortunate than most. Yet, even he doesn’t know where his path will take him.”

“What about you?”

Yubelluna did not answer.

* * *

“You went to the McDonalds _again_ , you say.” Matsuda mused. “You took her out, had a pleasant meal, a long conversation where you both discovered you had stuff in common and proceeded to schedule a third date.”

Issei nodded.

“The people around you also applauded as you left, you got a free smoothie, and you found 10000 yen on the ground. These are all things that happened, and that you expect me to believe.”

“What can I say? God blesses my every step and Buddha smiles upon my karma.”

Motohama sat up from his bed, hurling his phone onto his pillow. “No wait, hold on. Let _me_ say, that the only thing strange about what you described, is that it happened to _you.”_

“Oh yeah?!” Issei cried in protest. “Opposed to who?!”

“Me.” Motohama said piously. “Obviously.”

Issei kicked a spare seating cushion at his head and he dodged, laughing. The tiny room, no more than 150 square feet, didn’t leave much space to dodge, filled as it was with electronic and fibrous paraphernalia. The cushion rebounded off the wall and struck the small tv they had set up on the bedside table, setting it to wobble dangerously. 

As one they cried out, diving for it, pausing onto to breathe once they all had hands on it and could safely manoeuvre it away from the edge.

Matsuda kicked at Issei’s feet, and Issei fell over. “Dumbass,” he grumbled. “Watch the gear. It took all of us to buy that thing, but if it breaks you’re _totally_ replacing it alone.”

“I _got_ it.” Issei grumbled, pushing himself up. “Just help me.”

Motohama stretched out, leaning back until he tipped over with a loud squawk. Slowly propping himself up, he turned to Issei, injured. “We’ve been sitting here for _hours_. Dude, let’s _go_ somewhere.”

“Dude, Yamazaki bought a Guilty Gear cab for like, a _hundred_ thousand yen or something, it’s crazy. He’d totally let us-”

“No!” Issei slapped the floor. “No Guilty Gear! Help! Help me!”

“With _what_?!”

Issei tilted his chin up. “I didn’t do the essay.”

Motohama froze, where he was cleaning his glasses. “Essay?”

“The essay we got a month ago?” Matsuda raised a brow. “The one due _tomorrow_?”

“That’s the one.” Issei said loftily.

“Oh shit.” Motohama said.

“Oh god you forgot too.”

“We were busy!” Motohama protested. “Finding ghosts and shit. Cool shit.”

“Yeah!” Issei cheered. “Cool shit! Not like this school stuff!”

“And where the fuck do you get off on correcting us?!” Motohama protested. “You’re as lazy as we are!”

“Don’t you dare put us on the same level.” Matsuda sniffed. “ _I_ paid someone to do it for me _weeks_ ago.”

“Oh sick.”

“I found it.” Issei called, emptying out Matsuda’s bag onto the floor. Everything fell out in a rush, and from the mess he pulled out a slim folder. Aghast, Matsuda dove over the bed, reaching for Issei, who danced away while holding the folder behind him. Rushing to the other side of the room as Matsuda struggled to get out of bed, he opened the folder and slowly separated out four pages before snapping it shut and tossing it aside. “Four pages.” He said in satisfaction. “Damn, that’s the max length. Who’d you get to do this?”

Matsuda finally crawled out of the sheets tangling his legs, kicking them aside in irritation before marching up to Issei and snatching the pages away. “Akio from Class 2.” Matsuda flipped through them, sighing as he confirmed no damage had been done. “He wanted help checking out the swim team.”

“Did you-”

“ _No_ , I didn’t show him the new hole. I gave him a spare pool key and a net, and told him to start cleaning.”

“Dude, genius.”

“We gotta try that sometime.”

A superior look flashed across Matsuda’s face, as he began swelling from the praise.

Issei, fighting the urge to kick him, frowned. “Actually damn, I didn’t know Akio was a pervert too. Damn, I’ve been harsh on the guy.”

“Dude, nearly every male in Kuoh is scum, man.” Motohama said wisely. “All the smart guys, they probably went to, like, established highschools and stuff. Elevator schools. Only idiots and desperate perverts like us would bother to study hard enough for a converted girl’s only school like Kuoh Academy.”

“Is the college section even co-ed?” Matsuda frowned. “I wanna check out college chicks too, man.”

Motohama shrugged. “Should be. We should visit sometime.”

“It’ll also be the _only_ time we visit,” Issei interrupted. “Unless you fucks help me, and by you, I mean that paper Matsuda’s holding.”

Matsuda frowned, but handed it over reluctantly. “Make sure you change some of it.”

“Dude, totally.”

* * *

Hana-sensei looked at them flatly. Three piles of paper sat in front of her, lined up, with white-out visibly marking off the names in the top left.

“Let’s play a game.” Hana-sensei said calmly. “It’s called, ‘You cheated and I’m going to kill you for it.’”

“That’s abuse.” Issei ventured cautiously. “Can we play ‘Go home and jerk off’ instead?”

“No.”

“How about, ‘A’s for everyone.’” Matsuda tried, snapping his eyes out of the absolutely filthy look he’d been using to try to drill into Motohama’s head.

“ _Love that game._ ”Motohama muttered, shifting even further to the side.

Hana-sensei shot him an unreadable look. “You’ve never played it.”

Motohama winced.

“Now, Hana-sensei.” Issei soothed. “Why don’t we forget this ever happened?”

“Great idea.” She said briskly, straightening up.

“Wait, reall-”

“Instead.” She interrupted callously. “We’re going to play, ‘Find the needle in the needlestack.’” She pointed down at the piles. “Find the one that you did.” Her eyes narrowed. “Fun fact, you’ll have to go off handwriting, because _they’re identical_.”

“Actually this is pretty easy. Hardest one’s for me.” Motohama said. He pointed to one, noticeably more in contrast than the other two. “That one’s mine.”

“The one you obviously scanned, rather than even bother trying to copy it?”

“That’s the one.” He said brightly. “The metaphorically monochrome needle in the needlestack. The rest are hay, should be easy.”

“Good use of metaphor,” She said brightly, hand hovering over the scanned sheet of what was obviously printer paper, and began violently shredding it. “Maybe you’ll even get a D in English this year.” 

Motohama cried out in shock, hand outstretched as though he could stop her. He couldn’t. They simply watched her turn it to confetti and spit on the pieces.

“Next.” She spoke ominously. 

Issei raised a hand nervously. She mimed looking around thoughtfully for a long moment, before pausing and pointing at him. “Yes, Hyoudou.”

He lowered his hand. “Mine isn’t there.”

“I’m glad you pointed that out.” She grinned nastily, reaching below the desk to pull out _another_ four pages, identical to the rest, save for familiar handwriting.

Dismayed, Matsuda pointed a trembling hand at the one left over. “Then...who’s is that?”

“Funny story.” Hana-sensei mused. “It’s actually from Class 2, believe it or not. Kid named Akio.”

“I literally can’t believe it.” Matsuda said, straight-faced. 

“See, nor could I.” She said back, equally blank. “Except for the fact that three fucking idiots turned in essays using _Class 2’s_ prompt to _my_ class.”

Matsuda stilled. Issei slowly squeezed his eyes shut, regretting ever trusting this moron with anything.

* * *

“Ise-kun, are you there?”

“Yo, Kiba.” Issei waved the other boy into the empty classroom with an impatient arm. He stepped inside, looking around curiously. It was empty and still, only half the room lights on. The blonde boy stepped inside, sliding the door half-shut behind him and leaning against the wall, observing Issei’s grit-tooth frustration with something approaching amusement. 

“Why _are_ you still here?”

“Doing lines.” Issei grumbled. “Matsuda fucked up and got us double punished.” Growling under his breath, his hand went wide, scribbling over the page violently, scratching out all of his previous effort and eventually crumpling the page into a ball. It went sailing across the room, and landed on Hana-sensei’s desk along with a small pile of similar pages. He threw his hands up in victory, kicking back in his chair, before turning back to Kiba. 

“I notice they aren’t here.”

“Drew the short straw.” He grunted, leaning under his desk and shoving his stuff into the bag. “Whatever, I’m done.” Yanking it shut, he swung it over his back and stood up, kicking the seat away as he turned to Kiba. Kiba had moved to the front of the classroom and unwrapped one of the crumpled balls, noting the violent scratchings that had shredded the paper. “I don’t think this is what Hana-sensei intended.” He said, eyeing the page. Issei snorted as he moved up behind Kiba, uncrumpling the top right corner, where he’d misspelled ‘Matsuda.’

“Ah, where’s yours?”

Issei pointed at a pile of neat pages arranged by the lectern.

Kiba quietly offered Issei the page, which he re-crumpled slowly and sank into the recycling bin.

There, Issei paused, swinging his bag back up onto his shoulder. “Hey man, how well do you know Yubelluna?”

Kiba blinked in surprise, and twisted around to face him. “Yubelluna? Bo-uh, Riser’s queen? Not well, if I’m being honest. Only by sight, and...” his lips twisted a little, but Issei couldn’t identify the expression. “...a conversation, in passing.”

“Oh, okay.” He rolled neck. “Well, I’m starved. Wanna grab ramen?”

Kiba hedged, seeming tempted, before shaking his head. “No, I can’t. I came to let you know, actually, I’ll be busy afterschool for some time.”

Issei shrugged. “Cool man - this still about the Riser thing?” He moved past Kiba, pushing the door open and stepping out into the cool school building. It was late, late enough that most of the clubs had long packed up. It left the place quiet and still, something Issei himself was yet uncomfortable with. Kiba, unsurprisingly, was not, moving beside him and seeming irritatingly at ease indeed.

He shrugged, hefting a bag of his own. “Something like that. I _would_ appreciate you not saying anything to...Yubelluna?” He walked beside Issei thoughtfully for a moment, somehow keeping pace despite taking a wider turn than Issei as they stepped into the stairwell. “How did you come to know her at all, Ise-kun?”

Issei flapped a hand lazily. “Date.”

Kiba nearly tripped, stumbling and taking steps two at a time until he found his balance at the bottom, shoes squeaking as he quickly turned to Issei with an aghast expression. “ _What?_ ”

Issei preened, then realized Yubelluna and Kiba were probably like evil co-workers or something. Maybe they did like, small-talk around the lava cooler. Got coffee by a decorative iron maiden or something. Showing off was not to his benefit, not if there was a chance Yubelluna might be the one to pull his brains out his nostrils. She might make it painful for acting cool. 

“Practice.” He said hastily. “Riser said Yubelluna hadn’t seen much of the human world. I’m basically a tour guide.” 

Kiba nodded slowly, thoughtfully. 

“Be cautious.” Is all he said.

Issei shrugged. He knew that. Frankly, Kiba seemed like the one who needed to look out for himself, he still had food stains on the rear collar of his shirt.

Bright red with a little yellow too. Gross. How’d he even do that.


	24. Having too much in common is also a problem (Part 2): Universal trepidation complex

A thin line of green stretched across the sea of steel, bounded and defended by picketed thorns of wrought iron and a legion of housewives. It was called Kuoh Park, and came to exist around the turn of the century while Japan battled the real estate crisis and the dollar went for ¥158 a pop. In the overconfident speculation and subsequent crash of the market, the parcel of land went seemingly unnoticed, until it was found a decade later and gated off as public property for the growing city. It was eight miles wide and hardly half a mile across, more landing strip than garden; it sat right in between Kuoh’s bustling commercial sector and the river that bound the forever eastward expansion of the housing sector. It was both well known, yet utterly unpopulated, making it a popular place to meet if you wanted to speak to someone privately, in public.

It was exactly what Issei Hyoudou needed for what promised to potentially be an awkward conversation.

In the days to weeks following the new revelations he’d received regarding devilkind, Issei Hyoudou had lived a quiet life. This was perhaps because he discovered that he wasn't living much of a life at all. Oh, he loved his peaceful days, the petty crimes and serial harrassment, oh he loved it all. But Issei Hyoudou had lapped at the teat of knowledge, and gained a taste for such secrets. 

It would be rude, though not inaccurate, to claim he was unhappy. He’d disagree of course, quite vehemently.

And yet he found himself at the park, all the same.

“Issei, have you ever seen a happy man?” Yubelluna asked, auburn hair dancing in the wind.

“Is that a trick question?” He asked cautiously, pausing while he eased himself onto the wooden bench beside her.

She sighed. “No.”

“Then yeah.”

“Do you know the fastest way to ruin his happiness?”

Issei fought to not roll his eyes. It _was_ a trick question. “Not sure. Take away what makes him happy? Burn it? Eat it?”

“Show him something he can’t have.”

Issei shrugged. That one stung his injured ego. Her too, if the faint grimace was any indication. He really had to wonder at the efficacy of that kind of cutting wordplay. It seemed far too early somehow, for that sort of self-deprecation.

My, what a miserable pair. 

* * *

Their third proper meeting was in the park. It was an empty morning, chilly and brisk, but Issei wanted to talk and he didn’t think he could wait. Yubelluna didn’t, incidentally; thus, Issei found himself jogging his new circuit, down the winding streets lined with blocky stores, accompanied by her silent presence to his side. 

Issei felt his pulse climbing, pushing him harder than usual. His feet struck the pavement, and for once he ignored the building ache along his side. His breath came in short gasps as he pushed himself, breath steaming in the chill air.

Cresting a hill, he slowed to a stop, gasping as he fought to not fall and roll around. He deliberately chose not to look as Yubelluna stopped beside him, not even panting. 

“Why...” he said. “Why’m I...wearing this stupid....tracksuit...?”

She frowned, leaning over to look him in the face. “Tracksuits look good.” She shifted in her own firetruck-red joggers.

Issei gave up convincing her that tracksuits were fugly; she wasn’t one to be swayed by his appeals to masculinity. He’d only worn it because he knew she’d ask why if he didn’t.

Shaking his head, he pushed on. There was plenty of company as he got closer to the city’s center, and at some point he discovered the silence to be more companionable than uncomfortable. 

The city began to wake as the morning rapidly passed, Issei’s footsteps echoing less and less as the ambient noise of civilization took it over. The mist rising off the river was something to behold, and perhaps that too helped him keep going. There was an odd, mystical quality to pushing through the low-hanging shroud, one that chilled his limbs and cleared his head. He had a lot to think about, and not much time to say it.

He continued jogging until he could push on no further, mind finally at ease, and slumped down.

“Wanna...call it here...?” Turning slightly, he caught her in the corner of his eye.

Not a gasp, not a drop of sweat. Issei shut his eyes, and focused on catching his breath.

She eventually, reluctantly, voiced approval, and once more Issei found himself slumping onto a bench beside her. His breath continued to steam harshly. 

“I’m surprised you joined me.” Issei said after a while, dabbing at his sweat self-consciously. “Got free time?”

“Yes.” She said shortly, eyes fixed on the skyline. “There hasn’t been much to do. Riser has been roped into wedding plans by R-by the bride’s family.”

Issei waited patiently with a mild expression of interest on his face, something he could honestly say he was getting quite a bit of practice in. After a moment, faced with his expression, she continued. “...he hasn’t needed us for much.”

Translation: _R-Riser-kyun hasn’t asked after me at aaaaaaaallll~~~ he doesn’t looooooove meeee~~~ Issei-samaaa, please help this unworthy soul! My massive chest is-_

Issei blinked back to awareness, tips of his ears pinking. 

Well, it was probably something like that, anyway. This girl would never admit it, even if he was right.

Issei sucked on his lip, thoughtfully. They’d spoken on and off for the past few weeks, in corridors or the odd queue, and he could say for fact that her expression had only continued to sink in that time. Not to sadness or anger, but to a sort of placid acceptance, somewhere between apathy and relief. It was, to be frank, quite terrifying.

What it really boiled down to was the question he spoke next: “Why _do_ you still work for that guy?” 

She turned to him. “What?”

Issei spoke quickly. She knew, already, that this was why he’d invited her out again. Just as he knew she would resent it fiercely. She wouldn’t entertain his questions for long. “You hate it there. You haven’t done anything in weeks, you talk about a wedding I haven’t seen, coworkers I’ve never met and a desire to _do something_ I’ve yet to see acted out. Why stay?”

She didn’t answer.

“Why are you second fiddle?” Issei repeated. “You said you were hired for the position, temporarily. You’re strong, you said so. Why not leave?”

Her expression was calm. It smoothed out like a lake. Still water. Unresponsive.

But Issei had twigged onto something, a long while ago. A hint, a suspicion. He just needed _an_ answer. 

“Do you really love him?”

She didn’t answer, lips twisting.

She _couldn’t_ answer. It was something she herself didn’t know. Did she love Riser?

Yes. And no. Issei would put money on it. She didn’t know _what_ she wanted. 

“You said you helped him win his fiancee in a competition. What did he give you, to help him?”

“Why does it concern you?” She countered lowly. A fair question.

“I’m worried about you.”

She clicked her tongue impatiently. Ha! She had no counter to genuine concern. Was he winning? Could you win this kind of discussion? He felt like he’d gained ground anyway, to...some end. Probably.

“Why _else_ do you care?” She demanded. Her voice was frustrated, in a rather more murderous way than charming. Somehow, unlike his mangas, he doubted the right answer would be, “because I love you” or some shit. She might actually kill him for that.

Honesty, go!

“Er?”

That’s right, he had no idea! He was obsessed with the answer for purely selfish reasons, but had no idea what they were! Issei Hyoudou was a creature of reflex and instinct, idiot! If he had the capacity for that degree of self-reflection, he probably wouldn’t be an open pervert to begin with!

She blew out a long breath, and gave up.

“Cake.” She said grudgingly.

Issei coughed. “What?” _You gave up your love for a pastry? Selling yourself a mite cheap there, aren’t we? Ah, that came out wrong._

“Cake.” She repeated. “We, his peerage, demanded a cake _each_ to help him.”

Issei felt his lips twitch. That poor bastard, Riser, had to _bribe_ his harem to help? So that’s why-

“Ah. Was it your first cake?”

“Not by the time I got it.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“If you know what you did wrong, good. Now shut up.”

* * *

Someone was waiting for them, bouncing one foot impatiently outside the school gates. A man, blonde of hair and mien, rap-tap-tapping his expensive loafers on the cracked sidewalk.

Issei waved once he looked up to acknowledge them, while Yubelluna sped up as they approached, drawing closer faster and faster, slowing only to press herself gently to Riser’s side.

Riser sneered and gave Issei the up-nod while the two curled into each other, Riser’s hand sliding around her waist and Yubelluna curving an arm about his neck.

Perhaps you might believe Issei was jealous at this scene; indeed, normally you would be correct.

_But look closer, and closer still._

Yubelluna had pressed herself to Riser’s chest, running her hand under his doubtlessly expensive dress shirt, but flinched every time he went to pull away. Riser held her close, but never once looked at her face, or smiled. He looked over her head, surveying the world like he owned it. But not the girl in his arms. Not once.

What twisted children these were!

Issei had seen him flash-grill a burger in the palm of his hand when he was hungry. Considering what that would do to a fine stick of Issei-chops, Riser was perhaps not wrong to be so arrogant. And yet, could such a man lack the courage to acknowledge a girl that loved him?

It was news to Issei. Scary, scary news. It boded poorly for his own future.

Perhaps Riser loved her as well, but wasn’t it already too late? He’d already used her to help him win another’s hand. She couldn’t even look at him any longer. There were no words left to say, no matter how tightly he held her.

It was already over. There was nobody left to save Riser from himself. 

Oh wait, this fucking pervert had a harem didn’t he? Issei wished to humbly request his concern be returned to him, it ought to have been reserved for attractive women to begin with.

But Issei wisely kept his thoughts to himself, instead just offering the two an uncomfortable smile. 

“Please stop showing off your harem, the jealousy hurts.” Issei told Riser. “I might cry, you know? Are you even capable of taking responsibility for a man’s tears?” _You can’t even take responsibility for someone that loves you, bastard. Share some of that fortune._

Riser grinned, and then laughed at a joke only he knew. “If you insist.” He turned and kissed the top of Yubelluna’s head, before turning back to him, with an interested gleam in his eye. “But, feel free to come over and play whenever you want.”

“I thought I wasn't worthy.”

“I wonder.” Riser mused. “Perhaps the great Riser was hasty in saying such. After all,” he laughed again, “Yubelluna didn't kill you for the presumption.”

_What_

Issei’s eyes darted down to Yubelluna, who tilted her nose up at him.

_That date_ _**was** _ _a trap_

Riser leered at him, intercepting his nonverbal screams at Yubelluna with an easy callousness. “You’re probably the same sort of person, come to think of it... I don't mind that kind of self-aware guy. Even in a human.”

“He’s not self-aware.” Yubelluna grumbled. “He has emotional tourettes.” She shot him a scathing look.

“Titties.” Issei said promptly.

Yubelluna shook her head sadly. “Simply uncontrollable.”

“I feel that.” Riser mused, a misty look coming to his eye as he gazed into the middle distance. Issei whipped his head down and glared at Yubelluna.

Yubelluna rolled her eyes and unzipped her tracksuit a little, immediately distracting him as pale flesh began to sway in unexpected, wonderful ways.

He instantly forgave her.

“Anyway.” Whatever damage Riser had been resolving was evidently over, as he turned back to them with clear eyes. “You can-” he blinked. “Hyoudou?”

“ _Eh?_ ” Issei tore away from Yubelluna’s swaying hips, eyes dancing around her mocking expression to return to Riser. “What?” 

For some reason, Riser grinned - even wider. He leaned in, and spoke directly to Issei’s face.

“***”

Words, Issei did not understand, nor did he wish to hear. All he knew was that there was an honesty to them that irritated him, infuriated him to a degree he could not stand.

“Thanks.” Issei said shortly, taking steps backwards, before turning around and walking away quickly. He could feel their eyes on his back, fire and ice, boring into the back of his head, following him all the way down the street.

_“I’ll free you from your troublesome burden - from responsibility - any time you wish. Just ask.”_

In that moment, Riser’s expression was unpleasant, to such an extent that even Issei worked up the will to consider punching it. He had only an inkling of what Riser meant, or even what the offer really was, but Issei swore to never accept. He didn’t need some handsome bastard giving him orders.

He wouldn’t mind if it was a pretty girl though...

* * *

“Er, Mister...Sudeep? You summoned me, yes? Please-”

“ _Just shut the door!_ ”

Kiba slammed the door shut behind him, wincing as it rattled the frame. Sudeep poked his head out from under his sheets, where they bound him head to toe. “Did-” his eyes darted about, and pink flashed as he wet cracked lips. “Did you-” his voice cracked harshly, “-did you- _you didn’t!_ ”

He darted back into the blankets, shivering, as Kiba looked around frantically, wondering what he’d missed.

“ _The sill!_ ” Came the hissed reply, under the blankets. “Cover the gap!”

Looking straight down, Kiba saw the rolled cylinder of cloth, and a little further back, the notch in the floor where it would cleanly fit, and seal the bottom of the door. Kiba winced.

“Mr. Sudeep, won’t you suffocate-”

“ _I’ll survive a few hours without air!_ ” The sheets shivered a bit. “ _But if that fucking fly gets in, I’ll kill you, and then myself!_ ”

Kiba slowly rolled the cushion in, trying to take shallow breaths as the rank air of the room threatened to choke him. Or worse, cling to his good uniform. He tried to step gingerly on the carpet, and not raise dust as he trod carefully to the hard mattress placed in the center of the room, coated in layer after layer of thick chemical-drenched blankets under which Sudeep shivered. “Mr. Sudeep.” He said cautiously. “I understand your concern, but it _is_ just a fl-”

The bloodshot eye that pinned him down sealed his lips. Kiba’s gut sank as he realized this man was entirely genuine in his wide-eyed fear.

“ _That fly - it robbed me of_ _ **everything**_ _._ ” Sudeep sounded near tears. “A devil, you said you were? Bullshit! I’ve seen a real devil! I’ve seen it - buzzing, _buzzing_ around my head, in my ear, up my nostril, clawing inside my head, scratching its way to my brain, scraping at my ear drum, scraping its little legs against my eyes when I- _when I-_ ” the blanket shivered more violently, growing tighter, more compact, trembling.

“Um.”

“You said-you said you were a devil? You said you could grant wishes? Any wish?” The man's head extended from under the blanket, like a serpent, his whole body following the motion until he was nose-to-nose with a frozen Kiba. “Hey, can you - can you kill someone? Finish him off? Grind him to pieces? Kill him, extra, extra dead?”

The man confronting Kiba was a man ground down to nubs. Yellowed clothes, recessed eyes, twitching and sweating, and fearful of even his own shadow lest it conceal his foe. 

And the burns. Horrible, weeping burns that swathed most of his visible flesh, cracked and almost fuzzy at points. His face seemed paralyzed, so still he kept it to avoid cracking the injuries open. Even his screams of fury were through pursed lips. His words held a slight whistling quality to them as a result, from air moving rapidly through the fleshy straw of his sealed lips.

“I’m not-”

 _“Kill that fly!”_ Sudeep hissed. “Stamp it out! Kill it good! Wipe it from fucking exis- _oh no_.”

A buzz. A hum in the air, like static on the wind. A whining drone, as a little housefly wound it’s way down from the ceiling, rubbing its little legs together with a passionate fervor.

“Is that thing wearing goggles?”

“It’s armed!” Sudeep hissed, groping around under his blanket for something. “I must - _ah, where is it?! -_ give your countrymen their due Kiba, they know their microart well, they _armed the little bastard to the teeth_ \- _got it, I gotcha you little fu-_ ” Sudeep whipped the blanket off, drawing a Redhawk out from under his pillow like the world’s shiniest rabbit, and letting a round or two off towards the ceiling. “Ah, fuck!” The room physically shook, the thin walls wobbling as the .454 Casull rounds shredded the ceiling like cardboard. “Hold- _I’ll kill you-_ ” Sudeep yelped as shards of glass fell, scraping at his already heavily scarred features. “I can’t- _aha!_ ” There was the tiniest _sqt_ and a very long, lingering hum in the air as the gun stopped firing. Sudeep sighed in satisfaction as a lone wing drifted down. 

“You just shot the - _where did you get that gun?_ ”

“I smuggled it.” Sudeep said blankly. “Money is the least of my worries. The _rishi_ only promised me that the magic of this land might solve my issue. I only know that it will likely require your aid, not what that would entail. Or how long it might take. What if I needed to defend myself?”

“From the fly.”

“Yes of course.” Said the man calmly, veins visibly pulsing in his eye. “Didn’t you see it? It followed me, all the way to this goddamn country. There’s nowhere to hide.”

“You _just shot it._ You _shot a fly out of the air_ , why do you _even need my help?!_ ”

“He’ll be back.” A nerve in Sudeep’s jaw jumped. “He’s always back. I lit him on fire, speared him, stabbed him, carved him up, blew him up, _he always comes back_. He wasn’t satisfied with the burns, he wants to finish the job. I won’t let him, you hear?” The pistol rattled ominously. “ _I won’t let him._ ”

Kiba slowly put his hands up. 

* * *

“-and then I had to promise him I’d either bring him a solution, or let him shoot the infected panda.” Kiba finished.

“Damn.” Issei scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Sounds like bullshit.”

“...it isn’t. Even if, well...” Kiba replied awkwardly. He felt rather ashamed of making light of the man’s struggle, but...

“Makes sense you’d get a lot of weirdos.” Matsuda muttered. “Being a devil sounds like a real pain in the ass sometimes, with all this wish stuff.” Kiba grunted his assent, ducking beneath a drying rack.

The four of them had left school after lunchtime, taking the long way around past Lin 43’rd street and all the way down the Butcher’s alley to avoid the truancy cops. It was a red place, red in spirit and red in stain, coating the walls and floor. 

“This is a pretty inauspicious place to be talking about curses.” Motohama noted nervously.

“Every time, it blows my mind that this place was allowed to stay.” Issei murmured, swerving past someone carrying a chicken cage. Motohama ducked a half-stowed ladder to come up beside him. “The town’s new governor ‘is said to have a great appreciation for japanese culture’.” He said cheerily. “And also insisted on only having the _freshest_ sample of the local food. For every meal, apparently.”

“The mayor is _totally_ a gaijin.” Matsuda grumbled behind them. “Some shit-for-brains with too much money from Europe or something. Who else would pay for this? The whole street looks like Nagoya.”

“Be _polite_.” Motohama chided. “That shit-for-brains bankrolled my future harem.”

The three started chuckling, low and dirty. Issei wiped fondly at his Kuoh Academy lapel pin. “They can take over _any time_ they want, if it means more hot ladies come by.”

Kiba, who had begun looking increasingly nervous at the mentions of shit-for-brains _gaijin_ , coughed abruptly. “So what should I do?”

That put them to pause. 

“About the magic fly?”

“Yes.”

“You’re asking _us_ , man?”

Kiba gestured expressively. “Why not? I could use help, if I’m being honest. This is a new one on me.”

“Dude.” The three traded looks. “It’s _a_ fly. Like, literally _a_ fly. Like, literally just kill it? Even if the fly _was_ haunted, like, you can just kill it right?”

“Well...” Kiba nervously rubbed his palms dry on his pants.

“Oh no.” Motohama moaned. “You’re not serious.”

“What?” Matsuda turned to face them, walking backwards. “What? What’s going on?”

“He bought it. He believes the fly curse.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well...” Kiba rubbed his hands nervously. “He was _very_ convincing. And ghosts _are_ real. And well...”

\---

_The fly slowly extended two forelimbs, waggled them at its eyes, before jabbing them at Kiba. A screaming Sudeep fought to peel the burning clay from his beard before it added to his already extensive collection of facial scars. His thrashing startled the bottle on the table, sending it wobbling, but the fly’s position atop it was granite._

_Kiba swallowed. “I’m a contractor?” He tried._

_The fly slowly slid its hand under it’s bulbous head. Kiba felt the cold slice of fear tickle his jugular._

\---

“...look, please, I could use some advice in this case. I don’t handle a lot of, uh, domestic issues.”

“That’s a filthy lie.” Issei accused. “You told me about all the petty shit people call you for. Are you telling me that you’ve never been called to kill a spider?”

“Maybe my hirers don’t want to see me dirty?”

Matsuda and Motohama simultaneously turned and spat in disgust into an open gutter.

“ _Please_ help. Flies are hard to exorcise.”

“Did you try bug spray?” Issei said impatiently.

Kiba fought to not roll his eyes. “Do you think we _didn’t_?”

\---

_“No, please.” Kiba begged. The fly waggled its abdomen ominously, balanced atop the nozzle of bug spray. It listed dangerously close to the edge of the table Kiba was trapped under, opening aimed squarely at his face._

_“Please. I can help! I grant wishes!” Kiba begged, weeping gently. “I can-please! No!”_

_The fly swung under the level, flexing it’s tiny limbs and drawing the nozzle closer to opening by another hair, before striking the makeshift paperclip press latch with it’s extra legs and holding it in place. It crawled back up to the nozzle, and continued to stare into Kiba’s eyes with remorseless intent._

_Somewhere behind him, Sudeep had long gone silent. The only noise left was the soft lick of flames consuming the tiny studio._

\---

“-something like that happened, I guess?” Issei offered. The other two fought back giggles.

Kiba sniffed. “You can’t prove that’s what happened. And I will _not_ share unless you agree to help.”

Issei got the distinct feeling that he was being goaded, but he _was_ curious about devil work...

“Sure.” Issei said. “I got some time.”

“ _Some_ time?” Matsuda’s ears twitched. “What the hell else do you have going on?”

“Yubelluna w-w-“ he yawned heavily, “-was bitching about Riser. Super late too. Gonna go home and sleep.” Tired as he was, he missed the other three’s eyes narrowing dangerously. “Anyway, so what was the...”

* * *

Issei yawned again, stumbling into the school building, and accidentally lost his balance, slamming into the wall to his left. He groaned and briefly stopped to lean his forehead against the wall as the early morning sun beat down on his eyelids.

He hadn’t slept. He was too excited to be communicating with a girl on his cellphone. It was fucking with his head, pushing him to make bad decisions, whispering things like _2 hours of sleep is enough right? Okinaga-sensei won’t notice if you catch up on sleep in English..._

Slowly stumbling back to his feet, he slowly trudged up the stairs to the side of the entrance, his footsteps echoing. He slumped his way down the rapidly emptying halls, eventually arriving at his class and sliding the door open.

The inhabitants froze. Issei blinked, and rubbed his eyes. 

“Where’d the desks go?” He asked, dazed.

The classroom turned to face him. The faces were blank. 

Issei screamed as they dove for him as one.

* * *

“Gentlemen!” Roared a man standing in the center of the room. “We have, among us tonight-”

“This morning.” Asahina-san muttered under her breath. It was slightly muffled, as the entire classroom was wearing their winter uniforms as headscarves, but she’d forgotten to take off her little junior council badge. How cute, she was a toady-in-training. Issei might have actually found that somewhat charming if she wasn’t also holding his leash.

Kiryuu, instantly recognizable as being one of three people who didn’t care enough to hide their faces, interrupted both thought and speech by swiftly kicking the orator in the nads.

He wheezed and turned a lovely puce. It went extremely well with the window curtains, so much so that Hana-sensei was taking notes. Also, his deadbeat teacher was _in the room_ and not stopping them. He’d be reporting her to human resources later, once he figured out how she kept getting away with this kind of abuse.

“Gentlemen and ladies.” Kiryuu told the fallen hero. “Get it right.”

The next one up unceremoniously evicted the previous master of ceremonies via applied trauma, and stood in his place.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” Cried the supposedly disguised replacement that was just clearly Motohama. He was wearing his glasses on over his headscarf for some reason. “We, the classroom of poor fools forced to put up with the endlessly disturbing antics of Issei Hyoudou-”

Someone coughed pointedly.

“-on a regular basis!” Motohama continued on gamely. “He, who dares violate the sanctity of the locker rooms, the bathrooms, the changing rooms, the theatre club dressing rooms, that one changing room in the Sephora’s down by the mall that has a hole in it for some reason with all the creepy old dudes that just sit right beside it on Sunday evenings-”

The mood continued to spiral downwards, and now people were steadily getting angrier. 

At the speaker. 

Issei swallowed a grin. He hadn’t known about the Sephora’s.

“-and other various, assorted crimes!” Motohama continued hurriedly. “He had the gall, to go on a date! He dared make a public, platonic overture of affection towards an innocent young woman who was entirely unaware of his deviant proclivities! How dare he!”

““““““How dare he.”””””” The crowd murmured. 

Some were still shooting Motohama ugly looks. Issei had the distinct feeling that he was next.

“ _Ew gross!_ ” Asahina-san groaned. “ _What the fuck, I go there!_ ”

“ _I already called the cops._ ” Said her friend beside her. She’d done a better job covering her face and mouth, so Issei couldn’t tell who it was. “ _This turned out to be a grrrrreat way to root out all those dirty bastards. For some reason, these guys are dim enough to rat each other out._ ”

_Actually, Asahina’s friend-san, I’m pretty sure Motohama’s just salty that they’ve camped out next to that hole and don’t let us get a turn. He was probably hoping you’d call the cops. I’ll have to charge my power drill._

“He has infringed upon the limitations imposed on all, pathetic dateless men like himself! He, who surrendered the right to a happy life, for panty-shots, how dare he!”

““““““How _dare_ he!”””””” The crowd hissed.

“Why am I here.” Asked Yuuto Kiba, third member of the deeply-unashamed club, albeit involuntarily. “I’m not even in this class.”

One of the faceless girl-shaped hooded figures waddled over shyly, offering Kiba a large wooden stick. He took it, expression frozen in placed confusion, which slowly morphed into outright horror as she obligingly lit the oiled torch. It sprang up, dark shadows dancing on Kiba’s pale features.

“We thought you might want first go, Kiba-kun.” Said Hana-chan (no relation) obligingly.

“Oh.” Said Kiba. He turned to Issei slowly. Issei looked at him beseechingly as he suddenly realized that this was taking a dangerous turn. From what he recalled, Kiba had stepped in to save people like him before, arguing in favor of their better natures and trying to help him. Surely, now that they were friends, he would-

“Any last words?” Said Kiba helplessly.

Useless bastard.

“ _I heard he cons women into stripping in public._ ” Whispered Asahina’s friend. “ _And makes them cry in front of the police station._ ”

_What kind of lowlife gimmick is that?!_

_“I heard some perverts do that a lot.”_ Said Asahina. “ _Whisper a few words in their ear and walk away with all their money and valuables while they can’t move! It’s really scary!_ ”

_That’s not a pervert, Asahina-san, that’s a hypnotist. I’m still only 16, you know? That’s an entirely different kind of criminal history? Are you the one that’s been stealing my h-doujins from my locker?_

“GUILTY!” Howled Motohama.

““““““GUILTY!””””””

“I have shit to say first!” Issei suddenly said.

The classroom went dead quiet, save for the scratching of Hana-sensei’s pencil. 

Issei peeked at Asahina and noticed a gag dangling uselessly from her hands. Evidently she’d forgotten to put it on him.

 _Yeah!_ Said his subconsciousness. _Or that she just didn’t want to touch you long enough to put it on. We definitely believe it’s the former though._

“How about nah?” Offered Kiryuu. Issei hissed at her, and she hissed back. He flinched and cowered a bit. What kind of young lady sounds like that?! No wonder his grandpa always complained about youth culture going to the dogs. 

“Let ‘im speak.” Hana-sensei mumbled slightly, chin buried into her chest. Issei could have wept. He wiggled slightly to the right, trying to keep Kiba in between him and Kiryuu.

The classroom frowned a bit, and there were murmurs of dissent; evidently they didn’t really care about what he had to say. 

Hana-sensei must’ve also sensed the blood in the air, because she looked up with a sharp expression on her face that made his heart briefly stutter.

“You can always kill him later?” She said. “Not like he can defend himself.”

_What the fuck. You’re never gonna get married with child abuse on your criminal record, y’know?_

There were suddenly a lot of smiles in the classroom. Kuoh Academy was a private school, and an expensive one to boot. Issei was here on a full-ride scholarship and the grace of God, otherwise he’d never be able to afford it. But these bastards, they had parents willing to shell out a small fortune to get them here. Basically, all of these people were wealthy, rich young masters, who lived at the top of the pyramid. Wealthy, arrogant, pretentious, they spoke like sophisticated young adults, but these young masters were experts in ganging up and bullying poors like Issei since they were in elementary school and Tooru-kun had held him up for his lunch money.

Incidentally, when Issei spoke about bullying, the image that comes to mind may be of a large young man holding Issei by the ankles and shaking the dimes from his pockets; not so dear reader! Kuoh City and multiple outlying districts had switched to electronic lunch credit in the 90’s, keyed to ID cards, to ensure nutritionist-approved meals were provided to children. Little Issei wrote his first check to the tune of ¥300 of sandwich money.

All this to say, that Issei was perhaps _too_ used to this sort of thing. 

“Matsuda groped the swim teacher during CPR practice.”

The frisson of disbelief and fury was brief, but present.

_Betray this great lord Issei, will you, my traitorous comrades? Did you think this great lord hasn’t already seen through your paper castle?_

“Motohama stole Hikari-chan’s panties.”

The rumble wasn’t imagined. The blind gnashing of teeth was audible even through the thick coverings. Issei saw Motohama quietly slip his glasses off and begin retreating into the crowd. 

_One more, but I can’t push ‘em too hard..._

Issei put on a look of fake shock, and gestured into the crowd with his chin. “Oh my god, there he is now! It’s still hanging out of his pocket!”

The crowd swivelled cautiously, only to confront a disguised young man, short, bowlegged and furtive, suspiciously shoving some panties deeper into his pocket. He froze.

_Sorry Iemine, but we saw you and your girlfriend getting it on behind the school building. How fucking dare you walk around with her panties?_

Issei quietly untied himself as the classroom erupted into chaos, sliding back on his ass and slowly crawling for the exit. Something bumped into him; he turned to the side and Kiba was also crawling desperately away.

“Where’s the torch?”

Kiba’s hollow expression reflected firelight; both turned to see Asahina-san waving it wildly and jabbing at people with the burning end.

“Well, keep crawling dumbass.” He told his traitorous friend. “And maybe they won't remember we exist.”

* * *

Right around the time that Issei Hyoudou was getting his best life on, Freed Sellzen stood outside his church, watching hot smoke burn away. He absently swirled a cup of coffee in his hands, bouncing his cigarette to the corner of his lips before taking a sip, and sighed contentedly.

The church he stood beside rose above Kuoh City, bare of ornamentation from the outside in a way that made it seem regal. The sun set behind him, and while the hills around the city gained a cerise hue, the city that sat in the middle shone like stars in the shade as he stared down at it.

“Come out.” He said, a slight shuffling from around the corner of the church putting lie to the thought that he was alone.

“Y-you saw me?”

“You move like an ape, girl.” He snorted. “Also, you tripped on a shovel on the way over. This cute Freed-chin has eyes like an ibis and the ears of a wax moth.” He flipped his hair. “The coloration too. Aren’t I handsome? Why would you hide from someone this handsome? You can appreciate me in the open, you know?”

Further shuffling, before a little blonde head of hair poked out from around the corner, hardly five feet off the ground. “ _Sorry._..” She murmured, stumbling out, her fraying habit catching on her feet. She slowly made her way to where Freed stood, trembling slightly. “Ah...I simply-”

“-were curious. How boring.” Freed blew out a long breath and lifted a finger to his lips thoughtfully. “You want to see our guest, yes?” 

Turning, he walked back towards the church, hardly waiting for her to follow before he leaned against the front doors and slowly crept them open.

He gestured slightly, one finger crooked, and Asia slowly followed, to stand beside him and peek inside. 

“There he is...” Freed murmured, eyes distant yet unerringly focused on the back of the man before them. “Our precious _hero_...”

Asia too, could not tear her eyes from the figure in the distant hall. It was not that he was handsome, though he was. It was not that he was tall, though that was true as well. He just felt _large, big_ in a way even small animals could be with sufficient malice _._ The man radiated a terrifying kind of strength, a bestial kind of feeling that curled about his shoulders and the taut outline of his back. 

“Why do you call him that?” She asked softly. “‘Hero’, why?”

Freed grinned silently, remembering how sheltered this child was. It was a neverending font of amusement. He’d murder most anyone else for speaking like that to him. A privilege, afforded to the innocent and the immortal.

“Well, just look at him.” Freed said breezily. “Looks the part, don’t he? What do you think it means, for people like him to be walking around? Sacred gears were made to even the playing field for humanity, but once you give someone as strong as that dirty bastard a gear, he’s untouchable. They say he has a fucking Longinus too. That’s a sign of the end times right there; he’s a serious contender for the identity of Nostradamus’s King of Terror. He’s a walking death knell to the status quo.”

“But he’s...” Asia searched for the words. “A devil. I thought you...hated them all. To acknowledge one as your hero....”

“True,” he admitted. “Even a year ago, I would have shouted ‘Yahoo!’ and gone to carve the Heart Sutra on his scrote. I heard people do that on, like, grains of rice or some shit? Can’t be much harder working with his little peas.” He absently searched the air for the right words. His conflicted expression touched little Asia’s soft heart. “Maybe I’m old, eh? Even I can hope...”

“Actually, you know what?” Freed snapped his fingers. “I’ve been coldcocked too long. That’s it.” He said. “It’s all numb. I don’t even feel like killing him. Damn, I actually don’t mind waiting. I think I’ve almost surpassed physical desire and achieved enlightenment. It’s about time I converted to Buddhism.”

“...buddhists are nonviolent, are they not?”

Freed blinked in genuine surprise. “Really?” He turned back to the door biting his lip. “Never mind then. Shit, what was all this abstinence for?”

Asia blinked her large eyes. “You were actually planning...to convert to Buddhism?”

Freed grinned an ugly grin. “Everyone needs an out, yes? Especially...” He squinted, focusing on the people speaking near the pulpit. “Especially now...”

_Now that we’re so close to the war to end it all..._

* * *

“It’s not happening.” Raynare said coldly, leaning against a pew. “We’ve cooperated, but there are _expectations_ involved.”

Vali Lucifer stood stock-still, eyes briefly flaring in anger, before he tamped it down. He faced not the girl speaking, but the one behind her, who lounged even now upon the wooden stage. “I wasn’t aware there were such _things_ as far as our cooperation goes.” He hissed. “I held off the Executioners, I even saved you from Quarta _when you failed_ , and you’re backing down?”

The man behind the pulpit briefly stirred, but Raynare spoke faster. “You little _devil shite_.” She hissed, hackles a-risen. “ _You_ fucked up, and drew their attention in the first place! Where the hell do you get off questioning Lord Azazel’s plans?”

Vali knew very well he could keep this going - the facts stood that they’d fucked up, and he was _well within_ his rights and abilities to simply kill them all for it. Even speaking to this lot threatened to have him break out into hives. But-

“Where. Is Red. Tell me. _Now_. You owe me. _Azazel-_ ” a sly twist of the lips, unseen, “-owes me.”

-there was _so much more_ in play here.

Raynare faintly grimaced. “Not yet. You haven’t _delivered_ yet.”

* * *

“...?”

Freed perked up when he noticed Asia’s puzzled expression. “Ah? What are they saying? Is that what you asked? It’s a secret, y’know? You should cherish that. A handsome guy like that, whispering dirty secrets? Good looking people with mysteries are only more attractive, but a good girl like you shouldn’t develop an interest in a sinful fellow like that.” He patted her roughly on the head, taunting leer stretching invisibly across his face. “Get interested in a guy like Keiji Mutoh instead. When a sweaty guy like that keeps a secret it’s just creepy. You can always trust a guy that knows secrets are a bad look on him.”

Asia faintly trembled, as it seemed she understood less the more Freed spoke. “But...do _you_ know...what they’re talking about?”

“Well sure.”

“ _Are_ you? Sure?”

Freed paused.

* * *

The main doors slammed open, kicked aside with a violent haste.

“Yahoo! It’s Freed-chan! Here to stir some shit!”

Raynare groaned as Freed strode into the room like he had cantaloupes between his legs.

“ _What.”_

“Nah nah nah,” Freed cackled, waggling a finger. “Naughty naughty! Sharing information without this cute Freed-chan around, someone might assume something was going on!”

A sigh of irritation echoed through the empty church, but a deep voice chuckled and waved it away.

“Come now, Vali. He’s the only Holy Sword Wielder I have left worthy of the name. Forgive his eccentricities.”

Vali’s pale eyebrows twitched as he twisted back to face the pulpit. “Shame, that _this_ is your remaining ace.” He said coldly. “But if they died so fast, were they really worth a damn?”

The man laughed velvet, shifting slightly as he adjusted his position, and behind him _ten wings_ stirred the wind as well.

“Now, now.” Kokabiel grinned, “I already told you I liked where this was going, so we’re in this together now, little Lucifer. _Azazel’s_ plan brooks no leeway on this count.” The smirk that passed from the one seated to the devil went unnoticed, though the devil wished otherwise. He felt filthy even continuing this charade. “Freed’s part is valuable to this end, and he’s done a wonderful job.”

Vali ground his teeth slightly, as once again, he wondered if he should just kill them. 

It wouldn’t even be hard. So very easy. Thirty seconds, a minute tops. How strong could yesteryear trash like Kokabiel possibly be?

But no.

He allowed it to fester a little more, that core of malice in his chest, let it bubble up into his throat until the rage threatened to choke him and all he saw was red. For a moment, his hands flexed so powerfully his nails splintered.

For the briefest moment, the gauntlet on his right arm crept into reality, porcelain white bleeding over his knuckles and wrist, blue gem swirling.

Then he pushed it all down with a practiced ease. Just to remind himself what was at stake here. 

These borrowed tools weren’t enough, Kokabiel and his clowns were only so useful. He needed a much, much grander, much stronger spark before his rage could light the heavens. 

So as the buffoon continued his ambling pace into the cavernous room, Vali swallowed his pride once more, and let him live.

“Lookin’ peaky there, boss!”

Kokabiel chuckled, but there was an edge of fury to it. His right hand absently rose, drawing layers and curtains of cloth to cradle the stump of an arm, while fresh scars drew pale in the candlelit cast of his face.

“Shoulda known better than to tangle with the old man.” Freed grinned, twirling a lightblade casually. “That old monster is immortal.”

“Nevertheless, even he could not stop us.” Kokabiel spoke softly. “We retrieved what we wanted.” He tipped his head. “With the young Lucifer’s aid, of course.”

The sound of Vali grinding his teeth echoed in the church.

* * *

Kuroka-cat had been watching Freak and the little girl peer into the room with a kind of absent amusement. Vali had asked her to stop washing herself around him, probably because he was a horny teenager now and imagining what it looked like in her human body was how he got his rocks off.

Naughty, naughty.

She leaned forward a bit as they continued speaking, but didn’t really care enough to listen. The girl was cute though; it was almost enough to wonder why she associated with a gremlin like Freak. 

She crept a little closer once her fur was polished, ambling over with a careless confidence borne of knowing she was the most attractive being in six miles. She’d be given scratches if she curled up to Asia’s leg, she knew. She _would_ be given scratches, she was just too cute to not be adored and worshipped. She went to do just that, only for Freak to suddenly dash through the doors. She was already moving quickly, and the slick stones slid her feet out from under her. Her legs went wild, thrashing and clawing at the cobbled stone, barely skidding to a halt as the doors rapidly yawned shut and collided with her nose on the swingback.

“!” 

She hissed in pain and frustration as her delicate pink button nose smushed a bit against the wood. Her pudgy little legs flexed as she reared up and clawed the offending bit of scrap, peeling off strips of wood and paint from the aged door. She’d be doing the same to Freak’s genitals soon, she swore darkly.

Huffing in frustration, she settled back down, tail lashing, as she stared at Asia with evil intent. Asia, for her part, seemed hesitant to join Freak as he continued boisterously announcing himself. She did, however, push the door slightly open to continue listening in.

Kuroka sat bolt upright, tail extended in excitement. She slid through Asia’s legs and slipped into the foyer of the church silently. They didn’t suspect a thing; those buffoons were too busy crowing to themselves and measuring metaphysical penii or something. Kuroka chose to neither understand nor judge. 

She curled to the left instead, maneuvering toward some covered furniture piled high. It was quite a bit, high enough that from there she could jump to the rafters and hang tight in comfort. She settled back, waggling her butt as she tensed her back legs-

-and shot forward! She was a liquid blur as she moved, covering ground in seconds before she leapt powerfully, jumping over halfway up the tower-

-the tower of loosely piled furniture and broken accoutrements and undesired paraphernalia of religious intent or otherwise-

-loosely piled into a careless heap. She landed her _featherlike_ body mass onto the pile and immediately heard something violently crack. 

Indignantly, she denied the idea that _she_ had caused that. She was a light, spry little kitty, and this was the fault of whichever troglodyte had designed this structure. Poorly.

She continued this train of thought as the tower began to list and lean, having lost some critical load-bearing part. Kuroka contemptuously flicked her tail at the shaky structure and hopped down-

-onto a board that immediately snapped under her. Scrabbling in a sudden panic, she fell further down the tower of trash, as she bounced entirely off the side and sent the whole thing tipping. 

Kuroka immediately flexed her senjutsu muscles like she hadn’t since Taco Day, flexing and twisting through the falling rubbish, moving through it all with an absolute ease-

-as her back leg struck something heavy and metal with senjutsu-strengthened force, and rather than flex it went flipping entirely away.

For a long, frozen moment, Kuroka hung in the air, petrified, having lost her balance as the mountain of trash, collapsing in a rain of steel and wood and glass that sent hundreds of pounds of garbage flying with the sound of hurricane-force howling, rose high above her like a tsunami. A deep fear came over her, as she realized her precious tail, extended to it’s limit, was in some very real danger.

The mountain collapsed in almost slow motion, so massive and ponderous that it took several seconds for it’s groaning bulk to entirely settle after it hit the ground. Damn near everything exploded to pieces like a bomb went off, the whole church shaking and doors erupting open from the force.

Kuroka, safe and intact, slunk away quietly.

* * *

“ _Kurokaaaaaa...._ ”

Vali grit his teeth, easily standing his ground as the room behind him fell to pieces. “What the hell did you...”

Vali stopped speaking. Something else drew his attention, his eyes like a magnet. The metal piece Kuroka had kicked, unbeknownst to her, held the shape of a thick metal cross, bound and wrapped. It spun through the air, deceptively lightly, until it slammed into the floor and _through_.

The binding came loose, and the bare steel force of Heaven washed over them.

“ _Excalibur_.” How quaint. But this holy energy...

 _Too weak._ Far, far too weak. Kokabiel had been right, a completed holy sword would be necessary to do any kind of damage to an ultimate-class devil.

_Kuroka, I’ll forgive you this time_

“Is _this_...?” Freed whispered in disbelief. “Is this what you retrieved?” He drifted towards the blade, almost hovering, pulled by some current greater than himself. “Are we really _that_ close?”

A motion caught the corner of Vali’s eye. Kokabiel. 

He continued sitting, though his head was tilted all the way to the side. His eyes were fixed on Freed now, as he slowly grasped the blade.

A thin light filled the church, sourced from nothing and no one. Vali turned away, feeling his eyes sting and burn. A traitorous tear escaped, and he wiped it away harshly. Something caught his eye, and he looked up to see Raynare doing the same, eyes as red as his own likely were. 

Kokabiel slowly pushed himself up. “Well.” He purred. “That would be another concern assuaged, no? Valper did his part with aplomb, rest his soul. Freed has indeed been accepted by the holy spirits. Hear me now Freed, you may no longer leave the church without permission; there is a great deal of work to be done.”

Freed stood, face curiously blank as he gripped the sword so tightly his knuckles went stark-white, hunched all the way over. “That right?” He said softly. “What about the plan? I’m almost done.”

“Irrelevant. Someone else will handle it. This is the **only** choice you have, if you intend to keep working here.” Kokabiel smiled thinly. “Or breathing, I suppose. We will need this...talent of yours, when the time comes.”

“Only choice you say.” Mused Freed, clutching the blade ever-closer. “I wonder.”


End file.
